


Because You Needed It

by MHammerman



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 66,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MHammerman/pseuds/MHammerman
Summary: It's Kitty Pryde's last day as an X-Man before she leaves for university, and she already misses her friends—especially Kurt, who's been avoiding her all week. Then, a lab accident involving a cosmic cube transports Kitty into a traumatic moment from Kurt's past, making them closer than they've ever been. Time travel AU inspired by continuity. Eventual Kitty/Kurt.
Relationships: Kitty Pryde/Kurt Wagner
Comments: 137
Kudos: 25





	1. Departure

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not usually big on AUs. Will sometimes read them, not so much with the writing of them. All that world-building—who has the time? (I'm probably just lazy ;)) So, this story a bit of a departure for me. But I've had this idea kicking around my head for nearly a decade now; clearly, it had to be written, lest it torment me to the end of my days! ;)
> 
> You don't need to be a comics fan to read this fic. It's ostensibly set "in continuity," but there's only one really relevant plot point you need to be aware of, and that's a storyline in the second half of the 2004 Nightcrawler solo series in which it's revealed that before he joined the X-Men, Kurt traveled to Florida to join a new circus, but was promptly drugged and put in the freak show. He was there for weeks before he was rescued by a fellow mutant, then returned to Germany, confronted his brother doing some horrible things, and nearly got killed by the townspeople of Witzeldorf before he was saved by Professor X, and joined the X-Men. Canonically, Kurt's never told anyone about being in the freak show. This has always bothered me, because I hate the thought of him keeping such a horrible experience completely to himself; I've always wanted him to be able to share it with someone, and have a chance to heal. I can't promise this story won't be totally devoid of melancholy, but I can guarantee it won't be all-out sad—no one will die, and love and romance will prevail!
> 
> There's some suffering, trauma, and hurt/comfort in the opening chapters, that is connected to abuse (namely, Kurt's imprisonment in the freak show). But nothing is graphic; there aren't any lengthy descriptions of suffering, and no explicit torture or sexual abuse. No other potential trigger warnings jump out at me. All the romance is consensual and age-appropriate.
> 
> A plea for leniency, re: world-building—don't worry about the "science." Seriously—don't. I've tried to create some internal logic, but this is a superhero world, in which science = magic. The "science" is only here to facilitate the premise. And time travel has been shown to work a dozen different ways in Marvel comics. So don't get too hung up on that, either!
> 
> Finally, a huge thank you to danke_rose, without whose encouragement this story probably wouldn't exist. If you're a fan of this pairing and haven't read DR's stories—do yourself a favor and check 'em out! Okay—on to the fic!
> 
> Disclaimer #1: I don't own the X-Men or profit financially from writing way too many romance-y stories about them.
> 
> Disclaimer #2: Heroes always practice consent and safe sex.

**Chapter One: Departure**

Kitty Pryde was midway through the afternoon of her last day as an official resident of the converted Victorian mansion known as the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. She hadn't lived there very long—not at the present version of the mansion, anyway. She'd lived for a year and a half at the previous mansion—the original one, that hadn't yet been demolished and reconstructed on the foundation of the old. But she'd only lived at the present version for three months, several weeks of which had actually been spent globe-trotting and dimension-hopping. She'd lived most of her teenage years in the UK, as a member of Excalibur. Now, Excalibur was no more, and her superhero career was soon to follow, at least for the foreseeable future. It was Kitty Pryde's last day at the Xavier Institute; it was also her last day as an X-Man.

She was leaving to follow her childhood dream, pursing a fast-track PhD program in astrophysics from the University of Chicago. She'd already moved her meager belongings into her first apartment—a tiny one-bedroom on the south side above a laundromat—and had said the requisite goodbyes to her friends. All except one—the person she most wanted to see, who'd been unaccountably scarce all week.

Kurt had been at her going away party two days before, but had left early, before they'd really had a chance to talk. Besides that, she'd barely seen him. Ever since she'd announced her decision to leave, he'd been slow at responding to texts, always with some excuse—he'd been training, exhausted after a mission, had forgotten to charge his phone. The two times she'd visited his quarters, he hadn't been there, or at least hadn't answered the door. The one time she'd seen him in the hall, he'd been in a hurry to get somewhere, sketchy on the details beyond the fact he was late for something important—more important, apparently, than saying a proper goodbye to his best friend, who'd been sharing his life and various homes for the past six years.

Admittedly, her announcement had been somewhat sudden. She'd known she was leaving two months before, but had held back the news, partly because of the usual never-ending crises, and partly because she hadn't wanted anyone to try and talk her out of it. That included Kurt, though Kitty was sure that out of all her friends, he'd be the least likely to attempt to change her mind. Kurt wanted her to have a chance at a normal life. He'd said as much in the past, and she knew that he meant it, his own experiences unspoken but implicit. Kurt's life had never been normal, and never would be. At nineteen, the same age she was now, he hadn't gone to university, or even aspired to try. Instead, he'd retired from his first career as a trapeze artist and become a superhero. He'd been one ever since, and showed no signs of stopping.

Despite being confident about Kurt's support, Kitty was worried she might have hurt his feelings by not telling him earlier about her plans to leave. She should have told him—had _wanted_ to tell him. But she hadn't, ironically because she'd been trying to avoid the situation at hand, in which Kurt's knowledge of her imminent departure had resulted in him treating her differently, in ways she didn't completely understand. She was sure that he'd miss her. And she'd certainly miss him; she was already missing him, and hadn't even left. But she wasn't dying, or moving to another galaxy. It was just school, and it was just Chicago. Then again, she didn't want Kurt to treat it lightly; she was leaving, and things would be different. Mostly, she just wanted to see him, so that she could tell him to his face how much she'd miss him, and make it clear he was welcome to visit her in Chicago. Kurt had been the most consistent presence in her life for the past half-decade. During that time, they'd literally been to hell and back; somehow, they always made it back, sometimes singed, but always together. That mattered, and deserved to be honored. But Kurt, for whatever reason, didn't seem to feel the same way.

With a sigh, Kitty rose from the bed, made crisply with generic linens, and walked toward the window looking out on the gardens behind the Institute. A few students were milling around, walking alone or shuffling in giggling groups, just like regular teenagers—except for the occasional scales or purple skin. Kitty reflected on the fact that most of them weren't much younger than herself. Yet since joining the X-Men at thirteen, she'd had enough adventures to fill a lifetime, or, many lifetimes. Kurt had been there for it all, suffering through her early fear before becoming a friend, then a best friend, and then family. She told herself that family was forever; after everything they'd shared in six years of world-saving and life-risking adventures, Kurt would always be part of her life, wherever their respective lives took them. And yet, she'd lost touch with family before. It was rare if she talked to her mother more than once a month, and her extended family was even more distant; she hadn't seen most of her cousins, uncles, and aunts in years. A small, nagging corner of her brain worried that once she departed for a "civilian" life in Chicago, the same thing would happen with Kurt, not to mention Ororo, Rachel, Illyana, Logan, and the rest of the X-Men. Things changed so quickly in their world; for X-Men, four years often felt more like four decades.

A knock on her door started her out of her thoughts. She moved automatically to answer it, and opened the door to reveal the last person she was expecting.

"Good afternoon, Katzchen."

"Kurt." She said his name flatly, realizing she was angry with him, but undecided about whether she should be. He hadn't done anything so much as not done anything, and most of what he hadn't done involved a failure to live up to expectations he probably wasn't aware of, and that may not even be fair.

Kurt shifted his weight, tail swishing behind his ankles. She was wearing jeans and a hooded Xavier Institute sweatshirt, but he was in uniform, the same style he'd worn when they'd met, with the white gloves and boots and the crimson V down the front, knifing through a field of blue that nearly matched his fur.

"Not the welcome I was expecting," he remarked. "But perhaps this will lift your spirits."

He moved his right hand from behind his back to present a small box, gift-wrapped in colors that matched his own—shiny red paper finished with a blue silk ribbon. Kitty blinked at it dumbly, struggling to process how quickly her anger had morphed into something else, which in turn made her realize that her anger had never really been that. She hadn't been angry; she'd been hurt, thinking Kurt had already forgotten her.

"If you don't want it…" Kurt started to draw his hand back, but Kitty seized his wrist, stopping him.

"I want it," she said. "I definitely want it."

Kurt's face broke into a smile. "You'd better take it, then. After all—you won't be here much longer."

Kitty accepted the box, and studied its shape in her hands as she said, "Wanna come in while I open it?"

Kurt didn't reply, but did follow her into the room, closing the door behind him. When she turned to face him, she found him surveying the room's nondescript features.

"It's as though you've already gone," he said.

"We moved my stuff a few days ago," she confirmed. Then added, "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."

"Whatever gave you that impression?"

"You've been avoiding me all week."

"We've had two missions, and extra training, and Logan was feeling especially fragile after how things ended with his latest paramour…" Kitty merely looked at him, until he sighed, and said, "I haven't been avoiding you. I simply didn't want you to feel I was crowding you, on the eve of your departure."

"I wouldn't have."

"As they say, hindsight is 20/20. But you should open my present—it can be the first leg of my apology tour."

She did, carefully pulling apart the ribbon and slipping open the paper along the seam. It was a small, antique gold object set with mother of pearl. There was a tiny latch on the edge, so she opened that as well, and realized it was a diptych frame, featuring two photos of her with Kurt. The first was from her earliest days as an X-Man. It had actually been taken in space, aboard a Shi'ar ship, their faces superimposed upon an enormous field of stars. Kitty was smiling toothily with her arm slung over Kurt's shoulders. He was smiling, too, broad and cheesy, while making a rabbit ears gesture behind her oblivious head. The second photo was recent. She and Kurt were in the garden behind the Institute, the same one Kitty could see from her window. In it, she was sitting with Kurt under an oak tree, her shoulder gently dropped against his, light dappling their bodies through the leaves. They were both smiling about something, but casually, caught in a private moment, talking about who-knows-what. One of the students had taken it for a photography project. Kitty remembered noting the flash and click, and being annoyed. Now, she was deeply grateful, to the student for taking it, and to Kurt for preserving it.

"Kurt, it's…"

"It's us—where we started, and where we are."

"Worried I'd forget about you?" she teased.

"No, I…" Kurt's gaze faltered before he added, "Perhaps. A little."

"Oh Kurt…"

Kitty stepped into his body, and Kurt accepted her readily, gathering her into a tender embrace that included all of his arms, hands, and tail. As he rubbed her back and brushed her hair with his nose, she lovingly nuzzled his neck, pressing her cheek into his silky velvet fur. She wished he hadn't been wearing his gloves. Then she would have felt the same velvet caressing her ear and trailing down the nape of her neck when Kurt tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He was still cupping her neck when he kissed the crest of her cheekbone, lips soft and slightly ticklish.

"I love it." She breathed the words into Kurt's ear, and let herself kiss him a little, because he'd kissed her, and it didn't mean anything. It was just a warm goodbye between friends who loved each other, like good friends should.

When they finally parted, Kurt said, "Now that I am here, I'm at your disposal. Anything that is within my power to give—consider it yours."

Kitty considered the proposition as her arms slid from his neck. "Why don't you take me to dinner?"

Kurt blinked, once, then said, "Yes, alright. Here, or in the city?"

Kitty flashed a mischievous smile. "How 'bout Miami?"

"Miami… Florida?"

"I've always wanted to go," she explained. "When I was thirteen, I was supposed to go with my family for summer vacation, but then I came to the Institute and, well—all plans went out the window for the next half decade. C'mon, it'll be fun—we can take the jet."

Kurt blinked again, slowly.

"I heard you were at my disposal," Kitty reminded him.

Kurt replied, "I'm less concerned about securing a jet than the possibility that announcing our intended destination will turn this into a raucous and very crowded going away party."

"Sounds like your kind of scene," she observed.

"Not tonight."

It was Kitty's turn to blink, swallow, and shift her weight. "Well, then, we won't tell anyone. We can sneak out, under the cover of darkness."

"I fear that would cause its own problems. I believe I'll tell Ororo, and ask her not to tell anyone else."

"Sounds boring, but fair."

"I'm so glad you agree," he said, lips easing into a close-lipped, crooked smile. "Pick you up at 7?"

"I'll be ready." She agreed, returning his smile.

They studied each other for another long moment, still standing close, though no longer touching. Then, at last, Kurt stepped back, and moved toward the door. Kitty watched him go, moving in that fluid way he had. The weight and motion of his tail gave his walk a meandering quality, like water over rocks. It was especially obvious in his skin-tight uniform, which revealed every crease and groove of his many lean, taut muscles.

"And Kurt?"

He dutifully turned, and even that was graceful, unique feet executing a pivot so smooth it looked planned, like a dance step instead of an impulse. "Yes, Katzchen?"

"Dress nice." She wasn't sure why she said it. He already looked nice—would look nice in whatever he wore.

"Of course," he agreed, smiling the same crooked smile.

He turned again, and this time, she let him go, reminding herself she'd see him again in a few hours. She was also remembering she didn't have anything nice to wear. Her wardrobe was light on dresses at the best of times, and all the ones she did own were already in Chicago. She prayed Rachel could lend her something tasteful, that didn't plunge to her navel or include bondage-inspired buckles.

Before she could complete pulling her phone from her pocket, the entire building seemed to heave ahead of a resounding klaxon alarm. In the same moment, the lights blinked off and returned as a set of strobing flashes, white mixed with red.

Kitty raced into the hall, phasing through the door and part of the wall. Kurt was running toward her, at her side in a moment.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Kurt replied. "It seemed to come from Hank's lab. I'd better investigate. You should stay—"

"Screw that—I'm coming with you."

"Very well. Come."

He took her hand and teleported, straight into Hank's basement lab. Upon materializing, they were immediately hurled forward, in the direction of an enormous, swirling and sucking blue-and-white portal. Kurt's superheroic reflexes got them out in a hurry. He teleported them again, up to the steel catwalk that circled the lab. But the pull of the portal made it a rough landing. Kurt clattered to the floor of the catwalk and Kitty thudded on top of him with a grunt and hiss of swearing. Even at that distance, the portal continued to pull them; Kurt seized the railing and hauled her back, until she could secure her own grip.

The sound was nearly deafening, the repeating klaxon joined by a heavy electric drone, emanating from the portal.

"What the hell is that?" Kitty wondered, straining to be heard over the din.

Kurt didn't reply. Instead, he looked toward the far corner of the lab and said, "Wait here."

"I—"

"I'll be right back."

He was, BAMF'ing away and returning seconds later with Hank in tow, thankfully achieving a smoother landing the second time around. Hank stepped out of the sulphurous cloud of Kurt's teleportation and immediately started marching across the catwalk to a control terminal, where his dexterous paws proceeded to perform a series of dizzyingly complex calculations.

"Hank!" Kitty shouted. "What's going on?"

"Just a little unexpected reaction between a Cerebro unit and a cosmic cube… nothing to worry about…"

"What?!" Kitty and Kurt exclaimed, in unison. That combination of things sounded incredibly worrisome. Cosmic cubes were unpredictable at the best of times, and definitely dangerous. They were also supposedly extinct, every known cube either lost or destroyed.

Kitty began, "Where did you get—"

"That hardly matters now," Hank interrupted. "What matters is shutting it down."

"And if we can't?" asked Kurt.

"To be honest," said Hank, unnervingly calm as he continued manipulating buttons, "I'm not entirely sure. Though I suspect it won't be desirable. The portal is emitting a rather alarming volume of chroniton particles. It's some sort of dimensional conduit, and its gravitational pull is increasing exponentially."

"We need to separate the cube from the Cerebro unit," Kitty inferred.

"That would be the direct approach, yes," Hank confirmed.

"Is it the only one?" Kurt wondered. He knew, the same as her, that separating the devices would be extremely risky for whoever was doing the separating.

"At this point," said Hank, "perhaps."

Kitty and Kurt exchanged a look.

"I'll do it," said Kurt.

"No," Kitty protested. "I'll go."

"Kitty—"

"It makes sense," she insisted. "I can phase, decrease my mass. I've got the best chance of not getting sucked in before I can turn it off."

"I can get you out," said Kurt. "As soon as you—"

"I know. I trust you. Do you trust me?"

"Yes." Kurt didn't hesitate, but looked less confident than he sounded. His brow was furrowed under the hair whipping across his forehead, his gaze imploring as he touched her, fingers caressing her cheek. Kitty caught his hand and squeezed it, hazel eyes locked with his golden ones.

The exchange lasted, at most, a few seconds. But amid that crucible of adrenaline, it seemed infinitely longer. Kurt often worried about her before she did something risky, but seldom touched her—not like that, with tenderness and regret, like he wanted to say or do something else, but couldn't, because they needed to save the day. Kitty began to speak, though she didn't know what she would say. Kurt's name, perhaps, or an apology. Suddenly, she badly wanted to apologize for ever being angry, or joking about his feelings. But it wasn't the time. They didn't _have_ time. As she opened her mouth, Kurt gave her a nod of assent. She had to move. Now.

Kitty phased, and dropped through the catwalk. Even in her phased state, the droning portal yanked her forward; it took all her strength to remain intangible enough to resist it as she made her way through the lab, toward the obvious source of the problem—a silver Cerebro helmet with a glowing object the size of a Rubix Cube inside it, hooked up to vast array of multicolored wires. Disconnecting the wires wouldn't help. The cubes were power sources of nearly limitless potential; the only way to stop the reaction would be to physically separate the cube from the helmet, and hope for the best. Kitty stopped close to the apparatus, hypnotized by the pulsing and crackling energies that seemed to vibrate her brain along with her body. But she was steadied by the increasing pain of the portal's gravitational pull on her intangible molecules, enough to tear her attention away from the cube and look up at the catwalk, toward Hank, and toward Kurt. Kurt was leaning over the railing, watching intently, waiting for her signal. Kitty started mouthing a countdown, knowing Kurt's precise eyesight would see it. At "one," she reached for the cube.

She wasn't sure what she thought it would feel like, but didn't think it would feel so utterly normal. It wasn't hot, or cold, or anything, really, other than square and solid. It just felt like a box—an utterly normal box capable of sucking the entire school into an exponentially expanding dimensional portal. What happened the instant she separated it from the helmet was significantly less normal.

The portal made a sound like a heaving groan, then began popping and flickering, sound cycling in and out along with the colorful swirls. But the pull remained strong; each time the portal groaned back to life, its gravity did, too. Kitty staggered forward, caught off-guard by the unpredictable rhythm. She had to phase to stop herself from tumbling headlong into the portal. That made Kurt miss his catch; he BAMF'ed into the space beside her shoulder and promptly fell through her body, inertia sending him careening into the wall with a loud crash. But he was back up in an instant, tail whipping around a railing as he lunged for her hand.

Kitty knew she'd only have one chance. If she didn't catch Kurt's hand the first time, her solid body would be sucked in, to who knows where or when. There wasn't time for doubt or fear. There was only time to act. Yet she did find time to meet Kurt's eyes as she turned, solidified, and jumped.

Her fingers scrabbled for Kurt's, and for a moment, he had her. But then the portal roared back to life, and her fingers started to slip, one excruciating fraction of an inch at a time, until at last she was falling, out of Kurt's hand, out of the lab, and into the swirl and drone of the portal.

The last thing she heard wasn't the deafening noise of the portal. It was Kurt's voice, screaming her name. And the last thing she saw wasn't the lab. It was Kurt's two-fingered hand, reaching as far as it could, which wasn't far enough.

After that, things were quiet, white, and peaceful. Until they weren't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! But there's another chapter waiting for you, don't worry :)
> 
> A few continuity things: I'm making reasonable guesses about characters' always-nebulous ages. Kitty was originally depicted as studying computer programming at the University of Chicago, but her official Marvel bio lists her PhD as being in astrophysics, so I went with that. I feel bad about throwing Hank under the bus a bit here, re: having him pursue risky, potentially world-ending experiments. But I also don't think it's completely OOC; Hank's done plenty of questionable things in the past. Luckily, he has very forgiving friends ;) And I'll return to the actual causes of the accident later in the fic. Finally, I didn't precisely follow continuity when it comes to Kitty leaving the team. If I recall correctly, she actually leaves secretly, without telling anyone. But it didn't feel right to start the story with quite that much relationship tension, so I changed it.
> 
> Next—Kitty's fallen through a portal to... somewhere! Wonder where...? Read on to find out!


	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kitty arrives...

**Chapter Two: Arrival**

"Hey, watch it!"

Kitty stumbled forward as a very wide man jostled her shoulder, knocking her almost off her feet. Being knocked around in such a manner was especially galling for someone accustomed to passing through obstacles. But her first quick survey of her surroundings left her glad she hadn't phased. She was in public, in the middle of a modest crowd, somewhere she didn't recognize. Wherever she was, it definitely wasn't Westchester. For one thing, the Institute was nowhere to be seen. The weather was also wrong. In Westchester, it had been late spring, the air crisp and cool; here, the air was thick and muggy, like late summer, or the same season somewhere more tropical. But it did look like Earth; everyone seemed human, and the novelty t-shirts worn by a not-insignificant number of the ambling crowd were all in English. She was standing on a wide, well-trodden dirt path, lined with game booths, food stalls, and the odd animal cage, with a few tents and fairground rides in the distance. It looked like some sort of circus or carnival.

She stepped off the path to get a better view of the scene, searching for Kurt, Hank, or any other X-Men. But she only saw strangers. Wherever she was, she seemed to have arrived there alone. But where was she? If she'd time jumped, it didn't look like she'd gone far. The styles looked reasonably familiar, though it wasn't an especially stylish crowd; cargo shorts, ball caps, and polo shirts couldn't tell her much beyond the fact it was somewhere between 1993 and the present. Of course, there was an easy way to narrow it down. Kitty pulled out her phone. It didn't have a signal, or even acknowledge the existence of other signals.

Because she wanted to avoid causing a scene by stopping the nearest passerby and inquiring about the country, planet, day, and year, Kitty decided to explore. As she slipped back into the crowd and made her way along the path, she quickly gathered that it wasn't a particularly reputable establishment. At her left, a teenage girl was staring blindly into the screen of a flip phone with a cigarette dangling from her lips while manning the counter of an abandoned ring toss game. Above and behind that booth, there was a large billboard advertising a freak show, featuring a giant, a lion-headed boy, and an amphibious woman, among other "wonders." And at her right, a very sad, very mangy-looking chimpanzee was huddled in the corner of its cage, despondently ignoring the caramel corn a sadistically smiling young boy was tossing in its direction; the popcorn bounced off the chimp's head without a flinch or a blink. Kitty trembled a bit in the sunshine. She badly wanted to grab the boy by the scruff of his neck and teach him a lesson about respecting one's fellow creatures. But for now, she couldn't risk it. First, she needed to figure out where she was, and when.

She continued along the path, weaving through the slow-moving bodies, many of them either smoking or eating cotton candy and corn dogs while hauling along wide-eyed or crying children, sticky hands clutched in greasy ones. As she walked, she examined the paint chipped signs and sickly colored lights of the many game booths, and tried not to look too closely at the animal cages, which were a seemingly endless parade of despair. There were exotic birds, more monkeys, and even a tiger; the great cat was sleeping with its face pressed into its paws, and there were patches missing from what should have been a magnificent pelt.

In lieu of a better plan, Kitty wandered toward a large cage built into an old-fashioned wooden circus wagon, whose occupant was obscured by a thicker crowd of patrons held at bay by chains suspended between stanchions. She didn't read the sign above the cage, whose paint was fresher than the others. But even if she had, she would have remained woefully unprepared for the sight that greeted her when she approached the edge of the cage, and peered through a gap between two mindlessly leering teenage boys.

For several heartbeats, she wasn't quite sure what she was seeing. Then, she was sure she was stuck in a nightmare, because her conscious mind couldn't possibly conjure anything so awful. The cage's occupant was slumped on its side in a scatter of straw, its fur matted, its tail limp. Its eyes were half-lidded, and drool dangled from its slack jaw. One heavy limb reached toward the bars of the cage, just managing to taste the air of freedom. It was a truly pathetic creature, drugged, or sick, or maybe both. On its own, that would have been enough to chill and wrench Kitty's heart. But it was worse than that, because this latest suffering animal wasn't a what—it was a who. Kitty would know that tail and fur anywhere, and especially that two-fingered hand, the same one that had strained to reach her as she'd fallen through the portal that brought her to this terrible place. It was Kurt. The creature in the cage was Kurt. If she'd had any doubt, the painting on the cage's back wall would have erased it. It featured a grotesque caricature of Kurt, crouching and snarling, accompanied by ironically cheerful scrip declaring, "The Amazing Nightcrawler! Is he man, monster… or both?"

It was only her conviction that the scene couldn't possibly be real that kept Kitty from strangling the teenage boy in front of her when he started tossing popcorn in Kurt's direction, much as the younger boy had done to the chimp. Kurt was just as unresponsive as the ape had been, letting the kernels pelt his cheek and naked torso. His only bit of clothing was a ragged knot of fabric obscuring his nether regions, a strange concession to modesty given the appalling nature of the rest of the scene.

Eventually, the teenagers tired of torturing their quarry, and wandered off. That let Kitty step closer, enough to touch the steel bars of the cage, and shiver at their coldness; they felt entirely too real. When more gawkers left, she made her way to the side of the cage, to where Kurt's hand brushed the bars. She got as close as she could, hips pressed against the chains. Then, she took a breath, and ever-so-gently touched him. He felt cool, but warm. Entirely too warm.

Her own hand was visibly shaking when she drew it back toward herself. It couldn't be real—could it? Even if it wasn't her reality, it could be another one. This Kurt might be real, even if he wasn't hers. Or maybe, he was hers. Maybe he'd fallen through the portal with her, arrived at a different point in time, and been captured by one of their more sadistic foes; unfortunately, they had entirely too many of those. But it would have to be someone powerful to do this to Kurt. Or someone very lucky; Kurt would never go down without a fight. And he was very much down; judging by his protruding ribs and the condition of his fur and hair, the Kurt in the cage had been there a while. She couldn't see an inhibitor collar, but inhibitors could be administered in other ways, as liquids or gases.

But regardless of where she was, how, or why, there was no universe, real or imagined, in which Kitty could stand idly by and let any human being, let alone her best friend, endure such treatment. And yet, she also knew she had to be smart. She couldn't simply phase into the cage and grab him. Fighting her way through the crowd heading who knows where, fighting who knows what enemies with Kurt's limp body slung over her shoulder, would almost certainly do more harm than good. She still needed more information. And then, she needed a plan.

Kitty cast a furtive glance around her, stepped to the side of the cage, and turned to hide her face and body from the crowd. Then she reached again for Kurt, thumb pressing his palm as she stroked her fingers across the velvet on the back of his hand.

"Kurt." She said his name in a whisper, conscious of prying eyes. When he didn't respond to her touch or voice, she risked speaking louder. " _Kurt_. Kurt it's me—Kitty. Can you hear me? Can you understand? Give me some sign."

Kurt's glazed golden eyes might have wandered toward her, but Kitty couldn't be sure.

"I'm here, Kurt," she said, forcing an approximation of a reassuring smile through her threatening rush of tears. "It's going to be okay."

She jumped back as something hard clanged the bars above her head. Kurt did too, collecting his arm and clumsily folding himself into the nearest corner. Behind her shoulder, a rough male voice barked, "Hands off the merchandise, sweetheart! You're payin' to look—not touch."

Teeth set hard enough to hurt, Kitty turned to confront an enormous bearded man wearing a stained white undershirt. He was wielding a shiny black baton, the kind policeman carry, though he clearly wasn't one. His cruel grin exposed yellow teeth as he said, "Then again, for the right price—maybe we can work somethin' out."

It took all of Kitty's willpower not to thrust her fist into the man's chest, and rip out his heart.

"That won't be necessary," she managed. "I was just… curious."

The man chuckled a bit. "If you say so. I been in this business long enough to know—takes all kinds. This monster had a girl before he joined my show, if you can believe that."

Kitty looked away, biting her cheek hard enough to draw blood. She couldn't neglect the opportunity to learn more; she had to stay calm, for Kurt's sake. "Oh?" she asked, feigning disinterest. "Another monster?"

"Nah, she was human. Pretty, too—one a them blonde Barbie types. Like I said—takes all kinds."

That sounded like Amanda. Then again, it could have been anyone; it wasn't much of a description to go on. But despite all the questionable things she'd done over the years, Amanda would never let Kurt endure anything like this, not unless she was being held captive, too. And holding a witch captive was at least as hard as holding a mutant with Kurt's abilities.

"Is the girl here, too?" Kitty wondered, still avoiding the man's gaze.

The man leaned closer, forcing her to look at him. He smelled as awful as he looked—rotten like the circus he apparently ran. "You ask a lot of questions," he observed, "for someone who's _just curious_."

"You're right," she said, tightly. "I was just leaving."

She turned decisively, and started walking away. She waited for the man to follow her, but he didn't. Either he didn't suspect her of anything, or didn't care.

Each step away from Kurt put another crack in her heart, but somehow, she made it to the exit. There was a sheaf of brochures there, so she took one, and flipped through it. The brochure didn't help her with the date, but it did pinpoint the location. She was apparently at the Jardine Circus in Homestead, Florida, amid the majestic Florida Everglades, a "stone's throw" from the Florida Keys, and an hour's drive south of Miami. Or, more accurately, she was somewhere outside Homestead. The parking lot was a field, with no buildings or paved roads in sight. To effect her own escape and Kurt's, she'd need a car. So, she tucked the brochure into her pocket, and borrowed one.

With her powers, stealing a car was child's play. She could phase into the door to unlock it, or simply climb in, then reach through the steering column for the ignition. She chose an older—or possibly new—Honda Civic, reasoning it was nondescript enough for her to at least make it to Homestead, where she could call in the theft as an anonymous tip. Whoever owned the car would be inconvenienced, but it was a small price to pay for the greater good of rescuing Kurt as quickly as possible.

Once she was behind the wheel of the car, she used the brochure to chart her course, and tried not to speed. Getting stopped for a speeding ticket in a stolen car was the last thing she needed. As she drove, she scrolled through radio stations, looking for a news channel. Finally, she found one, and let it play. A report on the Democratic Primaries confirmed what the models of the cars in the parking lot and on the highway had already led her to suspect. She was in the recent past, specifically, seven years ago. She would have been twelve, and Kurt wouldn't have been an X-Man. But she still wasn't sure if the Kurt in the cage was hers—if he was from her timeline, or another one. She thought he looked younger, but with the state he was in, it was difficult to tell. Kitty tapped the gas, and risked going a little faster.

Once she reached Homestead, things proceeded smoothly. She'd always been good at problem solving, and six years as an X-Man and member of Excalibur had enhanced those skills to literally superheroic levels. After calling in the tip on the car, she put her hand through an ATM, and helped herself to enough cash for what she needed to do next. Within a few hours, she'd purchased a magenta-colored Dodge Neon from a used car lot that didn't ask too many questions, picked up new phones, clothes, food, and other supplies for herself and Kurt, and rented a room at the Siesta Motel, located off the 75 between Miami and Fort Lauderdale, which was respectable enough to have air conditioning but deserted enough to eagerly hand over keys to a nineteen-year-old girl paying in cash with no ID.

At the motel, she put away the things she'd bought, clothes in the dresser, food in the kitchenette, toiletries in the bathroom. Then, she changed into black yoga pants and a black turtleneck, laid down on one of the two double beds facing an enormous cathode ray television, and waited for nightfall.

…

A little after two in the morning, Kitty turned off her headlights and pulled as silently as possible into the parking lot of the Jardine Circus. She would have preferred to park somewhere less conspicuous, and proceed the rest of the way on foot. But she was concerned about Kurt's mobility, given what she'd seen earlier that day; if he couldn't manage to acknowledge her presence, she doubted he'd be able to walk under his own power.

Gaining entry was effortless. Between her ninja training and her ability to phase and air walk a few inches above the ground, Kitty was well-suited to stealth, especially when the moon wasn't out, and the single inept guard was asleep.

She did some cursory investigating on her way to Kurt's cage, but remained laser focused on the mission at hand. After a long day and half a night waiting to rescue Kurt from a living nightmare, nothing short of a Sentinel attack could have deterred her from her course.

There were few signs of life on her journey through the grounds. The chimp she'd seen that afternoon and a dog on a chain eyed her as she passed, but neither possessed the wherewithal or enthusiasm to trouble her. She did have to duck behind a trailer to avoid a pair of drunkly stumbling employees, but they weren't interested in troubling her, either. There was no sign of the presumed owner. Kitty almost regretted that; she would have liked an excuse to follow through on her desire to rip out his heart—or at least threaten to.

When she finally reached Kurt's cage, lit only by a dim light atop a pole on the opposite side of the path, he was much the same as he'd been that afternoon. Though his light-refracting fur rendered sections of his body nearly invisible, she could just make out the shape of him, crouched in a corner with his bare arms wrapped around his bare legs, his tail a limp squiggle in the straw. Yet his eyes gave her a measure of hope. They were open and brightly glowing, and seemed to roll toward her as she approached.

Kitty stopped at the edge of the cage and pulled down the collar she'd tucked over her lips. Even if this Kurt didn't know her, she wanted him to see her face, and especially her smile, which was still forced, but nonetheless genuine; despite the awful circumstances, she was dearly happy to see him, and happier knowing they were about to be reunited, to face the future together.

"Hi there," she whispered, waving her gloved fingers in greeting. "Miss me?"

Her greeting didn't register, which wasn't exactly surprising; Kurt still looked extremely lost.

In a low but clear voice, Kitty said, "I'm gonna join you—okay?"

Kurt didn't budge, so Kitty made a final quick survey of their surroundings, and proceeded to air walk up to the cage platform, before stepping through the bars. She did notice Kurt blink at that, but he didn't shy away. Kitty doubted if he knew the difference between reality and illusion. Even though she longed for him acknowledge her, and despite knowing it would make their escape harder, Kitty found herself hoping he didn't; it would be a mercy for him not to remember this particular place and time.

She wanted to move quickly—to seize Kurt and go, before there was the barest chance of anyone trying to stop them. But she couldn't abide the idea of scaring him. It might be her second chance to meet Kurt for the first time, and on the off-chance he did remember it, she didn't want to screw up. So instead of throwing him over her shoulders, much as he'd done to her six years before, she crouched at his side, and presented her hand, palm up. "Would you like to get out of here?"

Kurt's golden eyes flickered, slightly, from her hand to her face. At that distance, Kitty could see how glassy they looked; whatever they'd given him, it was clearly more than a power dampener.

"Can you talk?" she wondered.

He moved his head a bit; it wasn't quite a head shake, but seemed like the best she was going to get.

"Okay," she acknowledged. "But I think you understand, at least a little. So I'll tell you the plan. I'm going to get you out of here. We're gonna go far away, somewhere with showers, and beds, and clean clothes, and proper food. Then, once you're feeling better, we're gonna come back, together, and burn this fucking place to the ground. Sound good?" The promise of justice was a spur-of-the-moment impulse, but felt satisfying when she said it. If it had been at all feasible, she would have started the fire immediately.

Kurt blinked a little, but still wasn't moving. Kitty forced down a swallow as she pulled off her glove, and gently touched his bare shoulder. She stroked down, once, twice, and a third time, until Kurt's glassy eyes started watching her fingers. Even matted and filthy, Kurt's fur remained soft, and she was relieved to feel the firmness of his muscles under her hand. He was certainly thinner, but the fact he still had his strength was encouraging.

"I'm gonna help you up now—okay?"

He offered a semblance of a nod, and Kitty scooted to his side, not bothering to replace her glove. She gave his fur another comforting stoke as she slid her arm around his shoulders, and then under his armpit.

"Ready? On three. One, two, three…"

Kitty did most of the work, but Kurt managed to help a little, feet shuffling unsteadily in the straw. Yet it was obvious he wasn't going to be able to walk to the car; she'd have to carry him.

"Right… I'm gonna lift you now. Don't worry—I'm stronger than I look."

She remained solid as she scooped him into her arms, but once he was secure, she phased them. That made carrying him easier, though she still felt his weight; the trip to the car would be tiring, despite her powers and cultivated strength. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except getting there, and leaving—together. Her heart wrenched again at the way Kurt all but collapsed into her arms, fingers contracting in her sweater as he dropped his cheek against her collarbone, and nuzzled her a bit, like he might make a home there, safe in her embrace. He felt like a lost child, a world removed from the mature, confident superhero who'd knocked on her door that afternoon, and gathered her into his strong arms before promising to fly her to Miami for dinner in a supersonic jet. Miami… That seemed like an odd coincidence, that she should find herself so close to where she'd wanted to go, yet so very far from how she'd wanted to be there.

Other than the strain of carrying Kurt, the journey back to the car was blessedly easy, as was settling Kurt into the back seat amid the blankets she'd brought from the motel. Now that he was free of his cage, surrounded by human comfort and kindness for the first time in who knows how long, Kurt appeared almost ludicrously trusting. He curled into the spot she made for him while his eyes blinked groggily, and then shut, tail wrapping protectively around his legs as his hands gathered the blankets into his chest. Even though she knew she shouldn't, Kitty paused long enough to stroke her thumb across his cheek, pushing his hair off his face to reveal his pointed ear. His hair was longer than she was used to, and she wondered how it would look clean and dry, shiny waves caught behind his ears and sometimes spilling into his face. It would look nice, she reflected, especially when he smiled, probably after doing one of those spectacular things that was routine for him but impossible for almost anyone else. Kitty could precisely see him completing a ridiculous backflip with a sword in his hand, sticking the landing with an unnecessary flourish, and grinning as he swiped his hair off his forehead with the back of his free hand before leaping once more into the fray. Kitty shook her head to clear it, and returned to the task at hand.

She drove for forty minutes before she was sure they hadn't been followed. They'd made it. They'd escaped. But she didn't let herself relax. She couldn't relax until Kurt was himself again—his strong, joyful, graceful, beautiful self.

An hour later, she used the blankets to smuggle Kurt into the Siesta Motel, and laid him on the palm-leaf pattered bedspread adorning one of the two double beds. After sleeping for most of the drive, he remained debatably conscious, as well as off-puttingly quiet. Upon being laid on the bed, he immediately resumed a fetal position, and drifted back to sleep.

Kitty sat on the edge of the second bed, and watched him for a while, coasting on the waves of her spent adrenaline. Seeing him for the first time in the light, she was finally sure he was younger. Kurt's face and body seldom showed obvious hallmarks of experience, like wrinkles or scars. But there was a gangly-ness to this Kurt's body and a narrowness to his face that smacked of youth. Kitty had always detested the cliché of bodies "filling out" in adulthood. But in this case, it seemed apt. Her Kurt was similarly lithe, but couldn't be described as gangly, every lean curve being supplemented with taut muscle. This Kurt had taut muscles, too, but they clung almost desperately to his slim bones. His was a body built for grace and endurance, rather than power; he had the muscles of a trapeze artist, rather than a superhero.

She wanted to bathe him—to wash the dirt and stench of that horrible place out of his hair and fur. But she couldn't quite face the intimacy of what that would entail with Kurt in his present state. It was also very obvious that what he most wanted to do was sleep. Kitty decided that was best, but still wanted to make him more comfortable, and help him feel more human. Dressing him seemed like a reasonable compromise. It should be relatively easy to wrestle him into pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt.

Or so she thought. At first, the process was merely awkward. She scrunched her nose and tried very hard not to look as she peeled off the scrap of fabric concealing the only parts of Kurt's body she'd never actually seen. Then, the real challenge began. Never having dressed an unconscious adult before, Kitty was thoroughly unprepared for the heaviness and intractability of every appendage, a problem made additionally difficult by Kurt's particular features. It was a torturous ordeal getting the pant legs over his unique feet, not to mention dealing with his tail, which kept languidly flopping out of her hands, in every direction she didn't want it to go. Once he was finally wearing the pants and shirt, Kitty stepped back to admire her handiwork. But it quickly became obvious she wasn't quite finished. Despite Kurt's drug-induced semi-consciousness, his tail was clearly unhappy about being confined. She could see it wriggling inside his pants, searching out a path to freedom. Kitty smoothed back the hair that had slipped out of her ponytail. Then, she went to the kitchen to retrieve a pair of scissors.

Scissors in hand, she sat next to Kurt on the bed, and stroked his back, feeling his shallow but steady breathing, and assuring herself he was comfortable with her presence. Satisfied that he was, she trailed her hand down, following his spine to the elastic waist of his pants, and then further, to the place where his spine became his tail. She rubbed a bit, to make sure she had the right spot, but immediately stopped when Kurt finally made a sound. It wasn't a sound of protest. Quite the opposite; if she had to describe it, she'd almost say it sounded like a murmur of pleasure. Heat surged in her cheeks as her hand went cold. Did Kurt like being touched there? She'd never considered it, but it made sense. If she had a tail, she'd probably like being touched there, too.

She did her best to quiet her thoughts, screwing up the courage to finish what she'd started. Then she did, snipping a hole in the back of Kurt's pants before slipping them down his hips to collect his unhappy tail, and help it slide through. This time, she did her best not to touch him any more than absolutely necessary, breathing a silent prayer when she managed not to elicit any more unusual sounds. When his tail was finally free, it twitched a bit, sleepily, and then wound its way back down his leg, over his pants. With her last ounce of physical and emotional energy, Kitty moved him enough to tuck him under the covers, and then collapsed, exhausted, into the dusty pink accent chair next to his bed.

She didn't remember falling asleep, but must have, because the next time she opened her eyes, there was an orange glow in the turquoise curtains. It was Kurt that woke her—specifically, Kurt moaning and shuffling, and then wrenching upright, before reeling forward. Kitty just managed to thrust the garbage pail under his face before he vomited halting splashes of bright yellow bile. She held the pail and his body until his spine stopped convulsing, then wiped his mouth with tissue, and eased him down again. As soon as his body hit the mattress, he curled back into a ball, and trembled, eyes scrunched shut. She tried to talk to him, mumbled calming phrases, touched his face, stroked his back—anything to reach him, and better understand what she might do to help. None of it did any good. Whatever he was going through, there was little she could do except be there, and make sure he didn't go through it alone.

The second time he threw up, approximately twenty minutes after the first, Kitty contemplated the risk of taking him to a doctor. But the third time, an hour later, was slightly less violent, which she chose to interpret as a good sign. Whatever they'd administered to keep him sedated and powerless probably wasn't designed to kill him; if the circus had intended to keep making money from exhibiting him, it would stand to reason they'd want to keep him alive. Kitty shivered at the phrase her own mind had conjured. _Exhibiting him_ …

But she quickly shunted aside her own pain, in favor of more immediate concerns. Kurt was awake again, ready for another attempt to expel whatever poison was lining his guts. It had been a long night. The day was going to be longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Kurt—this was a rough chapter for him. But things will get better soon, I promise! No special continuity notes for this chapter. I'm basing my descriptions of the circus on Nightcrawler #9-10 (2004). The specific location of the circus was never identified, but it seemed to be in the vicinity of the Florida Everglades, so I went with that. I also made a really legitimate attempt to figure out exactly how Kitty's powers work and, confirmed what I've gleaned from watching her do many improbable things across hundreds of comics, which is—they don't make a lick of sense. Sometimes, she's been shown as capable of selectively solidifying parts of her body, which she would need to do to accomplish some of the things she does here (and to consider ripping out someone's organs, a move she does actually perform in a recent-ish issue of Guardians of the Galaxy). Try to roll with it, if you can ;)
> 
> Next: Kitty and Kurt meet again for the very first time...!


	3. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kitty and Kurt meet again for the very first time...

**Chapter Three: Recovery**

As it turned out, it took two days—two days of fitful sleeping, and sweating, and forced sips of water, along with stumbling trips to the bathroom preceding a few shaky bowel movements and plenty more vomiting. Through it all, Kurt remained barely conscious. He didn't speak, or even try, and hadn't once met Kitty's eyes with true awareness, though he always accepted her help, and responded a bit to her touch. When he woke up sweating, she'd apply cold cloths to his face and cheeks. And when he moaned in his sleep, shivering and contracting into a ball, she'd sit on the edge of his bed, calmly stroking his back and the fur at the nape of his neck, fingers sliding under the stringy hair she still dearly wished she could wash. After a while, he usually calmed, enough to uncurl himself, and sink back into a more restful sleep.

From their Excalibur days onward, Kitty had been as affectionate with Kurt as he'd been with her, easy with hugs and casual touches. But she wasn't quite sure whether or how he liked being touched. His unexpected response to her fingers rubbing his tail lingered in her mind as she wondered, more seriously than she'd ever done in the past, how his unique physical features might cause him to experience things differently. Did having fur make him more sensitive, or less so? Did he like being petted and stroked, or did he merely put up with it, knowing how nice he felt to the touch? His short, sleek fur was like silk velvet, but softer, because there weren't any gaps or breaks in the grain; his pelt was tight and continuous, broken only by evidence of his maleness, like the rougher, darker trail of hair that ran from the groove of his chest to his belly button and down, to those parts Kitty kept trying not to see.

She wished she could ask him what he liked—wished she _had_ asked him, in any of the six years she'd known him. But it had always seemed like an intimate question, outside the scope of their friendship, or else inappropriate to the discrepancy in their ages. Though her last boyfriend, Pete Wisdom, had been three years older than Kurt, Wisdom hadn't known her as a fresh-faced thirteen-year-old. Yet she thought she had her answer in the way this Kurt, delirious as he was, sometimes leaned into her gentle touch, and even smiled a little, or at least stropped pursing his lips with worry and pain. If she'd been braver, she might have joined him in the bed, holding his shivering body still against her own. She was sure he'd enjoy that, but didn't think it would be right, mostly because she'd enjoy it, too. She wanted nothing more than to properly hug him—to throw her whole self into comforting him, and keeping him warm and safe. Yet it felt very wrong to seek her own comfort from a man who couldn't properly hug her back.

While supervising Kurt's detox, she didn't sleep much, no more than a few hours at a time. That was partly by design; she'd die of sleep deprivation before she'd lose Kurt to a sneak attack by unknown enemies. But it was also because Kurt had seldom gone more than a few hours without waking up noisily moaning and coughing, sometimes trying to struggle to his feet, and inevitably stumbling. He would have fallen if Kitty hadn't been there to catch him. But she had been there, each and every time.

In lieu of sleep, she laid awake, and considered her next move. First, she had to make sure Kurt was okay—that was the most important thing. Then, she needed to get home. She had no earthly idea how to do that, but decided she'd start by making her way to Westchester. If this timeline was similar to her own, the X-Men—the original members of the team, consisting of Jean, Scott, Bobby, Hank, Warren, Lorna, and Alex—would currently be disbanded, and scattered to the wind. But the Institute would still be there, presumably along with its owner, Charles Xavier. One of the advantages of seeking out a telepath was that she could be sure he'd believe her story, which wasn't particularly crazy to her, but would be to anyone less accustomed to jumping through time or other dimensions. Whether Xavier would be able to help her was another matter. But she had to start somewhere.

But getting home wasn't the only problem. Time travel was tricky. There were temporal paradoxes to consider, and weighty consequences to every action. If she continued interacting with Kurt in this timeline, she couldn't risk telling him anything about the future—couldn't risk revealing that she knew him, or would, several years down the line. She couldn't tell him about the X-Men, or that he'd soon join their ranks. She shouldn't even reveal her name, or anything real about herself. Every bit of information was a risk. Talking about the future could alter it or prevent it from happening; it might even erase her own timeline. Then again, she'd also encountered situations in which time travel was woven into how the timeline was meant to work. What if she was meant to travel to this place, and rescue Kurt? Maybe he wouldn't have escaped without her help. And if he hadn't escaped, he might never have joined the X-Men. Not for the first time, she wished Kurt had been more open with her about his personal life and past. She knew him so well, yet there were so many things—practical details, like how he'd joined the X-Men, and whether he'd ever been held captive at a circus in Florida—that he'd never seen fit to tell her.

On the morning of the third day, Kitty's eyes blinked open into too much sunshine. It was late—later than she'd planned on sleeping, and much later than she'd managed to sleep on the previous morning, when she'd been woken up shortly after dawn by Kurt coughing scarily, like he was choking or trying to reject his intestines. She scrambled upright in the bed, and looked frantically for Kurt, but he was still there, tangled in the sheets of the bed next to hers, but peacefully, his lips loose, his chest slowly rising and falling. Kitty breathed a shaky sigh of relief as she pushed herself to her feet, and headed for the bathroom.

After relieving herself and working some of the tangles out of her hair, she padded back into the main room, and plopped herself down in the pink accent chair next to Kurt's bed, where she'd spent so much time over the past 48 hours. She studied him for a while, not intrusively, but with interest, wondering if this would be the day he'd finally open his eyes, see her, and even talk to her. Kitty longed to hear the familiar lilt of his accent, deep, crisp, and musical. He always over-pronounced her name, turning it into two short syllables instead of the usual one. His pronunciation of her nickname was smoother, which may be why he preferred it. Kitty liked both; both names were special when Kurt said them, and made her feel special in turn.

Eventually, Kurt began to stir, groaning softly as he shifted onto his side, then onto his back, eyes scrunching before blinking timidly open. He groaned once more at the light, and covered his eyes, right hand massaging his face.

Kitty cleared her throat and said, softly, "Good morning."

Kurt dropped his hand as his eyes flew open. He tried to jerk himself upright, but didn't quite make it. In concert with a sound that was halfway between another groan and a moan, he slumped back into the pillow, and reached again for his head.

"Dizzy?" Kitty inferred.

Kurt nodded a bit behind the indigo hand still covering his face.

"Try it a bit slower this time," she recommended.

After a moment, he did as she said, hand sliding off his face before he carefully pushed himself up against the wooden headboard. He stared straight ahead with one eye squinted half shut, like he was trying to get a bead on a shaky horizon.

"Can you talk?" she wondered.

Kurt responded with a dry, breathless cough, hand rubbing his throat.

"Here," she said, offering him the cup of water on the nightstand. "This might help."

Kurt turned to her, gaze flickering between her eyes and the cup.

"It's just water," she assured him.

When Kurt continued to hesitate, Kitty decided to break out the big guns. "I promise I won't hurt you—I would never do anything to hurt you. I'm a mutant too. See?"

She held up the glass in front of him, and phased her other hand through it, wiggling her fingers amid the still water before drawing them back. Kurt's eyes widened, but her stunt did the trick. The next time she offered him the glass, he accepted it, and took several small sips before replacing it on the nightstand.

"Better?" she asked.

Kurt's voice was faint and scratchy as he replied, "Ja. Danke."

"Do you speak English?" It occurred to her she wasn't actually sure; muddling along with her extremely patchy German wouldn't be ideal. As it turned out, she needn't have worried.

"Ja—I mean, yes. Apologies, my brain is…" His words dissolved in another cough as he shook himself a bit, and reached again for the water.

"Don't apologize. You've been through a lot."

"You're American?" he asked.

"'Fraid so."

"So… it wasn't a dream?"

"'Fraid not."

Kurt nodded slowly as his eyes descended back to the bedspread. "You helped me escape."

"Guilty as charged."

"Why?"

"Because you needed it." Sensing he was expecting more, she added, "And because us mutants need to stick together."

"You're really a mutant?" he asked, studying her through still-squinting eyes.

"Just like you."

"Not _quite_ like me."

Kitty offered a smile and a shrug. "You'd be the first to tell me your powers are cooler."

"I would?"

It was Kitty's turn to drop her gaze; she'd need to get used to not falling into old patterns with someone she wasn't supposed to know. Instead of replying, she quickly changed the subject. "My name's Kitty." She paused long enough to curse her stupidity, before asking, "What's your name?"

"I'm—" He was interrupted by a decidedly unhealthy sound originating in his stomach. "Um, I think I need to…"

"Do you need help?"

Kurt shot her a look as he crawled out from under the covers, and carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed. Kitty wondered if he remembered the many times she'd already escorted him from the bed to the bathroom and back.

"I hope not," he replied. "But I suppose we'll see."

Because he had to, he accepted her help to get to his feet, but once he was standing, he was able to walk on his own to the bathroom, albeit unsteadily; his tail seemed to be working overtime to keep him balanced, sometimes doing more harm than good. Kitty smiled a bit at the sight; under different circumstances, and if he'd been her Kurt instead of a stranger who'd just been through hell, she might have gently teased him for being betrayed by the appendage she strongly suspected to be his favorite. Her smile faded as she forced herself to remember—he wasn't her Kurt, and the circumstances were grave. This Kurt was safe, at least for the moment. But she was still trapped in either an alternate reality or the past, allied with a man who wasn't her friend, and couldn't be, for both their sakes.

A few minutes and two flushes later, Kurt poked his head out of the bathroom, dark eyebrows apologetically puckered. "At the risk of being terribly rude—would you mind if I took a shower?"

Kitty found herself fighting another smile; her own Kurt's commitment to being polite in every situation that least demanded it never ceased to amuse her. "Not at all," she assured him. "I imagine you need it."

"After sharing a room with me for… however many days… I doubt you need to imagine."

"It's been two days. And it's not like you could help it."

"Still."

"But wait—you'll need this." Kitty skipped across the room and collected some sweatpants, underwear, and a t-shirt from the stash of clothes in the dresser. She pressed the clothes into Kurt's arms, and while he was still blinking at them, added the scissors to the top of the pile. "You'll also need these." When he looked at her, she explained, "Figured I'd let you do the honors of cutting holes in them this time."

"You dressed me," he realized, "when I was…"

"I was discrete," she promised. "I mean, you know… as much as possible…"

"It's not that. I'm grateful, I just…" His gaze faltered before he regarded her seriously, and asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"I told you—us mutants need to stick together." Before Kurt could reply, she gave his shoulder a gentle push, and said, "Go. Have your shower. We'll talk after."

She was relieved when he obeyed her, backing into the bathroom and disappearing behind the door. Once she heard the water start, Kitty returned to her own bed, and collapsed onto it. Despite having plenty of time to think over the past two days, she'd been so focused on getting Kurt back on his feet, she hadn't fully appreciated the new challenges that would arise once he was. Her Kurt wasn't stupid, and this one wasn't, either. He was already suspicious of her evasive answers, and would only become more so if she didn't smarten up.

As she listened to the shower and stared at the popcorn ceiling, Kitty realized she should leave. It would be the safest, kindest thing. She could tape the money to a note advising Kurt not to follow her, and let him find his own way. But even as she considered it, she knew it would never work. If this Kurt was anything like hers, he'd look for her anyway, to make sure she was okay. She could tell him in person—make up some excuse about reuniting with her family, or catching a flight. That might work, except she'd never be able to face the way she knew he'd look at her when she told him, golden eyes wide above a mournful frown. He'd only flash that expression for a moment, before forcing a smile. But it would be there, and when she saw it, she'd promptly abandon all her plans. Against her will, her mind flashed back to the circus, and the moment she'd realized the pathetic creature slumped in a mess of straw and a puddle of his own drool was, in fact, her best friend, who wasn't a monster, and couldn't be, because he was the furthest thing from it. She couldn't stand the thought of hurting him, in general, but especially so soon after helping him survive one of the worst moments of his life.

She was still lost in thought when the bathroom door creaked open, heralding Kurt's return after his lengthy shower. Kitty sat up to greet him, and quickly found herself lost in a different set of thoughts. When Kurt ambled into the room, wearing the clothes she'd given him and rubbing his blue-black hair with a paler blue towel, he looked much more like himself—or, much more like the version of Kurt she was used to. His movements looked smoother, and the bits of fur she could see were significantly rejuvenated, becoming shiny instead of dull. Even his tail looked healthier, casually bending and twitching behind his ankles. But the differences between this Kurt and hers were equally plain. The clothes she'd bought him didn't hug so much as hang from his gangly frame, even his sweatpants in danger of slipping off his slim hips, his t-shirt loose on his biceps and chest. That was partly because of what he'd been through, but was also, she realized, simply a function of who he was in this particular place and time. This Kurt wasn't a superhero—he was a nineteen-year-old trapeze artist who'd never heard of X-Men, or Sentinels, or schools for especially gifted youngsters.

But she forgot all about the differences when he caught her gaze, and slowed to a stop, letting the towel fall to his neck as his lips crooked into a smile. Kitty had seen that expression many times before, on the face of her own Kurt. She was also very familiar with the sparkle in his golden eyes as he quipped, "Better?"

Kitty dropped her gaze, suddenly flustered. She'd been looking but she hadn't been _looking_ —had she?

"Yeah," she managed. "It's, um, good to see you up and about."

Kurt's lips twitched again as he slid the towel off his neck and draped it over the back of the nearest chair. "This is the last situation in which I would ever choose to meet anyone, let alone a beautiful woman. But since we have met this way, we might as well meet properly."

While she was still processing the increasingly obvious fact that Kurt, half an hour removed from struggling to open his eyes or stand, was trying to flirt with her, he took another step forward, and performed a small and mostly graceful bow, fingers extending with a dramatic flourish. "Hello. My name is Kurt Wagner. Stage name Nightcrawler. In my native land, I'm a trapeze artist of modest renown."

"Kitty Pryde," she managed to reply, reasoning the addition of her last name was unlikely to worsen whatever damage she'd already done. "I'm, uh… I'm a college student. From New York."

"New York?" he echoed, straightening to meet her gaze. "What brings you to Florida?"

She swallowed, then said the first thing that came to mind. "Vacation."

"You usually spend your vacations rescuing mutants from cages?"

"Sometimes."

Kurt cocked a dark eyebrow. "You must lead an interesting life."

"It has its moments…" she mumbled, then pushed herself to her feet and said, in a clearer voice, "Do you want something to eat?"

"Very much so," Kurt replied, following her toward the kitchenette. "Assuming my stomach will allow it."

Kitty let Kurt settle himself into one of the well-used chairs at the equally well-used table as she fired up the coffee maker and rustled through her supplies.

"I have tastier stuff," she said, "but since you haven't managed to keep anything down in days, let's start slow. Crackers and Gatorade—breakfast of champions."

Kurt eyed the Ritz and Lemon Lime Gatorade she deposited on the table in front of him. "Please tell me that isn't a beverage made out of alligators."

"What? No, it's… You don't have Gatorade in Germany?"

"If we do, I'm not aware of it."

"It's a sports drink," she explained. "Water, sugar, and electrolytes. It's supposed to be good for dehydration."

"What does it taste like?" he wondered, dutifully cracking open the plastic seal and cautiously sniffing.

"I don't know, like… water and chemicals."

"Sounds delicious," Kurt ironized.

Kitty rolled her eyes, much as she often did with her Kurt when he was being needlessly dramatic. "Just drink it, okay?"

"I'll try anything once…"

He sipped the Gatorade, made a face, then grinned in response to her scowl. Kitty resisted the urge to roll her eyes a second time, realizing he'd been baiting her.

Dryly, she observed, "You must be feeling better."

"I imagine you're wishing I remained asleep," he quipped back.

"No," she replied, suddenly serious. "I don't."

Kurt's smile faded, eyes dropping to the yellow drink in his hands. "Was it that bad?"

"No, it was…" she trailed off when Kurt looked at her, clearly not buying her lie. "Yeah. Yeah, it was pretty bad."

"I don't know what to say."

"It's hardly your fault."

"It is, a little. I should never have come here."

"Why _did_ you come here?" The coffee had finished, so Kitty poured herself a cup, and joined Kurt at the table. He was sipping the Gatorade, but taking his time; the crackers remained untouched.

"I came willingly, if you can believe that. I was invited by the circus owner. To perform, not for…"

"I was taking that as a given," she assured him.

"I should have known better. But the owner invited both me and my sister—we usually perform together. I took that as a good sign. Apparently, I was mistaken."

"Is she here, too? Your sister?"

Kurt shook his head. "Nein. Jimaine… decided not to come."

"That's your sister's name? Jimaine?" She was thankful for the excuse to ask such questions, which she could use to piece together how similar this Kurt's timeline was to her own.

"Ja. I call her my sister, but she's not… She's my foster sister."

"Do you know your birth family?"

"No. I was abandoned near the circus as a baby. My foster mother—Jimaine's mother—gave me a home. I've done a bit of searching, but… no one seems to know anything about my real family. Presumably, they don't want to know me." When he finished, he was staring, blindly, at his hands.

"I'm sorry," she sympathized. "That sucks." He'd hardly feel better after learning the truth—that he was the son of a demon and a shape-shifting mutant terrorist.

Kurt freed himself from his bout of melancholy, and managed a semblance of a smile. "I prefer to think of myself as fortunate to find such a loving foster family."

"That's a good way of looking at it."

"I try to look on the bright side of things. A necessity, when you look like me."

Kitty wanted to tell him she liked the way he looked. Instead, she asked, "You've lived your whole life in Germany?"

"I grew up outside a small town called Winzeldorf," he confirmed. "The circus travels for part of the year, but we spend winter and spring there. This is my first time in America."

"Your English is really good." It was; this Kurt's accent was slightly thicker, but not much.

"You think so? I started learning from movies when I was young, and practice as much as I can. We sometimes have British or American performers attached to the circus. But Jimaine's English is much better. She can speak without an accept. I, clearly, cannot."

In lieu of telling him she also liked his accent, she remarked, "You should hear my accent in German."

"Sprichst du Deutsch?"

Kitty shook her head. "I only know a few phrases. I have a friend who speaks it."

Kurt regarded her thoughtfully. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" she wondered.

"Your friend—they tease you, don't they?"

"No, he…" Kitty covered her instinctual denial with a sip of coffee. "I mean, he does tease me, but not to be mean."

"Is he your boyfriend?"

Her next sip of coffee nearly resulted in a spit-take. "What? No, why would you—"

"He teases you, but not to be mean. A boy usually does that when he likes you."

"He's not a _boy_ , he's…" Kitty readjusted her jaw, and tried again. "How old do you think I am?"

Kurt cocked his head, regarding her at an angle as he contemplated the question. "Seventeen…?"

"I'm _nine_ teen."

"I stand corrected," Kurt replied, barely fighting a smile.

"How old are you?"

"I'll be twenty in November."

"Meaning you're currently nineteen," she pointed out.

"Ja," he admitted, surrendering to a grin. "But my maturity exceeds my years."

"Sounds more like youthful overconfidence—my birthday's in August."

"I see. Now that I know where I stand, I shall endeavor to respect your elder wisdom."

Kitty wanted to be annoyed. He was so smart-mouthed, so cocky, so… young. But he was also so much like Kurt. Like a younger, brasher version of Kurt.

"Do you think you could handle some toast?" she wondered. "It's probably more appetizing than crackers."

"As promised," Kurt replied, "I defer to your wisdom."

As she rose from the table, Kitty shook her head to cover a smile. "I'm gonna make us both some toast. And if you throw yours up all over the table, I'll defer to your wisdom on how you'd like to clean it up."

By the time she slid his lightly buttered toast across the table, he'd finished his Gatorade, so she poured him a tall glass of water, and added an apple and a yogurt, just in case he was feeling adventurous. Kurt watched her with calm curiosity until she rejoined him. Only once she was sitting did he start to tackle his toast. Kitty found herself oddly touched by the gesture; her own Kurt would have done the same thing, except he'd probably be the one preparing the toast, making sure she ate after a long night of messing with whatever gizmo or technical problem was troubling her that week.

They ate in comfortable silence for while, though Kitty couldn't resist seizing the opportunity to study him, fascinated by all the similarities and subtle differences. His younger, thinner face made his depthless eyes look even bigger, and made his cheekbones ever-so-slightly sharper, but also more elegant, which made her recall how elegant her own Kurt's cheekbones were. It was funny she'd never thought about that before—how well she liked Kurt's face.

"It's okay to look."

Kitty blinked, realizing she'd been caught staring for the second time that morning. "I don't—"

"I'm used to it," Kurt assured her, "and I understand. As long as you don't look at me like they did. And I cannot imagine you ever doing that."

Kitty wished that were true. "You don't even know me."

Kurt shrugged as he finished his toast, then spun the apple into his hand. As he talked, he extended his arm as a slight angle, and let the apple roll down, perfectly balancing its every wobble. "You saved me, when hundreds of others walked by. You brought me here, watched over me for two days, fed me, dressed me, cut a hole in my pants for my tail… I think I know you enough to like you." When he finished, he flexed his bicep to bop the apple into the air. He caught it smoothly in his hand while favoring her with one of his best smiles, the one where he flashed a playful hint of his very white fangs.

Kitty couldn't help smiling back. He was so much like her Kurt. And if she had to be lost, there was no one she'd rather be lost with than Kurt. Her Kurt hadn't been much older than this one when they'd first been launched on their cross-time adventure, as members of Excalibur. Those times had been awful in some ways, especially once she'd become separated from the team, and feared she'd never find her way back. But there'd been good times, too, including the quiet moments between jaunts or stops, many of which she'd spent with Kurt, talking, or playing cards on the floor of the train, reclining on their stomachs in a pile of blankets to avoid the roughest bumps, until they were inevitably jostled by a wave of temporal energy even Kurt's reflexes couldn't compensate for, and the cards flew everywhere, leaving no one the winner. Even when they'd been apart, they'd been together. On the Widget-powered train, they'd often slept a few feet away from each other, which Kitty supposed she should have found strange, but hadn't. She'd liked looking over and seeing Kurt, which meant she wasn't truly lost; she couldn't be, as long as he was there.

Kitty opened her mouth to ask another question, something about Kurt's family or past. But instead, she found herself saying, "I like you, too."

That humbled him a bit. His smile faltered, gaze wandering. "That I find harder to believe. I haven't had much of a chance to impress you with anything besides my charming smile—and even that's seen better days."

"I'm impressed you're able to smile, after what you've been through."

"That had always been one of my most reliable skills."

Kitty swallowed, and said, "We should talk about it."

"About my charming smile?"

"Pretty sure you know that's not what I mean."

Kurt sighed, and ran a slow hand through his damp hair. "Ja, I know. Where should we begin?"

"How long were you there?"

"I'm not sure—what day is it?"

"Saturday, June 3rd."

Kurt's gaze and voice grew distant as he said, "Two weeks…"

"How much do you remember?"

"Very little," he replied, forcing himself back to the present. "I remember arriving there. I remember a needle in my neck. I remember the world going blurry. The rest is more like a dream."

"Or a nightmare."

"Ja…"

He wasn't smiling anymore, and neither was she.

"When I saw you there…" She trailed off uncertainly, unable to think of a single safe thing to say. She couldn't tell him what it had meant to her, seeing not just a person or fellow mutant in that cage, but seeing _him_ —her teammate, her friend, her family, her…

She inhaled a sharp breath as a familiar set of fingers covered her own. In the same moment, an equally familiar voice said, gently, "Kitty—it's okay."

Kitty released her breath slowly as she curled her hand into his, and squeezed, stroking his fur with her thumb. Kurt's own fingers stroked the underside of her wrist, tender, calm, and sure, just like her Kurt would do.

"Why did you do that?" she wondered.

Kurt's answer was easy. "Because you looked like you needed it."

Her next breath caught in her throat. This Kurt and hers were so similar, so… No, she realized. They were the same. This was her Kurt, because this was the past. Meaning this had happened before, to her Kurt. Without her involvement, presumably, but one way or another, it had happened. Before joining the X-Men, her Kurt had been drugged and exhibited in a freak show in Florida, and in all the years they'd known each other, he'd never told her about it.

For a split second, she was angry. How could Kurt not tell her something so big, so painful? But then, she was only sad, recognizing he hadn't told her because he hadn't wanted to. Maybe he hadn't wanted to relive it. Or maybe, he hadn't wanted her to relive it with him. The bitter irony of that almost made her laugh. Now, she was actively living it. And surviving it would be so much easier if Kurt had told her—if she'd known at least some of the details of what had happened, how he'd escaped, and what he'd done afterwards. She was fairly sure Xavier had gone to Germany to recruit him. She had to get him back there, had to—

Kurt released her hand, and somehow, that steadied her. It was easier to think without direct contact with Kurt's familiar warmth.

"You said you were on vacation," he said. "Are you here with your family?"

"No," she replied, picking up her last bit of toast.

"Boyfriend?"

"Just me. Sorry."

"Don't be."

Kitty forced the toast down her throat with a sip of her now-lukewarm coffee, and asked, "What about you? Do you have a girlfriend?"

Kurt's eyes became furtive. "Not… as such."

"That's usually a yes or no thing."

"I was seeing someone. But I'm not anymore."

Kitty wasn't sure if she should pry. He was probably talking about Amanda—or Jimaine, as she was presently called. Before she could decide what to say, Kurt added, "We've broken up before. Many times."

"But you always get back together," she observed.

"Not this time."

"What changed?"

"I wanted to come here. She didn't." The bitterness in his tone was obvious, but brief. His face and voice softened a moment later as he said, "I need to call her."

"I figured you'd want to call someone." She dug her new flip phone out of her pocket, and slid it across the table. "There should be enough money on there for a few international calls."

Kurt accepted the phone, but hesitated to dial, contemplating the screen.

"Did you want some privacy…?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, it's fine. I'll um, let you know if I change my mind."

He punched a long string of numbers into the phone. After what must have been many rings, he hung up, and handed the phone back.

"No answer?"

"No," he confirmed. "Which is… unusual."

"Maybe she's just busy," Kitty offered.

Kurt nodded absently, clearly unconvinced. Kitty couldn't be sure, but thought it seemed like more than a lover's quarrel. Kurt didn't look hurt; instead, he looked genuinely worried. Once again, Kitty wished she knew more about the details of Kurt's life before joining the X-Men. Was Amanda in danger, somehow? Would Kurt tell her if she was?

"Do you want to try your family instead?" she asked. Kurt shifted his weight, jaw flexing. Kitty arched an eyebrow. "Are you… not on good terms? Because I thought you said—"

"No, no, nothing like that…"

"Do they not have a phone, or…?"

"It's not that, either."

"You don't have to tell me," she told him. "I just don't want anyone to be worried about you."

"You're going to think this is very strange."

"Try me."

Kurt took a breath, met her eyes, and said, "Jimaine, my foster sister, is also… At various times, she has also been my girlfriend."

Kitty was so used to the weirdness of that, she'd actually forgotten it was weird. She was also surprised to hear Kurt acknowledge the weirdness; she'd never heard him do so before.

"So she's the one you broke up with, before you came here?"

"Ja," Kurt confirmed. "Believe me, I know how it sounds. But we've always known we weren't related. That would have been obvious even without… I think of the entire circus as my family, and Jimaine doesn't look like me—she isn't a mutant. She looks like…"

The way he trailed off caused Kitty to prompt, "What?"

"I was going to say—she looks like you."

Kitty expelled a helpless snort of laughter. She and Amanda weren't even as similar as Barbie and her flatter, shorter kid sister Skipper.

Kurt regarded her quizzically. "That was not the reaction I was expecting. Perhaps my English isn't as good as I thought."

"Sorry, I uh…" Kitty paused to clear her throat. "I thought you were trying to tease me."

"I wasn't," he said, then added, "Maybe your friend isn't teasing you, either. At least—not in the way you think."

Kitty sipped the coffee that was now completely cold. Her Kurt had never flirted with her, she was sure of it. And this younger version was only doing so as a matter of course—because he probably flirted with everyone. Just like her Kurt flirted with everyone—that is, everyone who wasn't her. A memory of Kurt's tender, ticklish kiss and the nervous and then serious way he'd accepted her dinner invitation brushed the back of her mind, but didn't make it to the front.

"There's that youthful overconfidence again," she remarked, regarding him over the lip of her mug.

"You'll have to excuse me," said Kurt, touching his chest in a dramatic gesture of apology. "My charm may be out of practice. Apparently, I haven't spoken to anyone in weeks."

Refusing to be derailed by Kurt's supposedly out-of-practice charm, Kitty said, "I don't know the details of your situation. So I can't say if it's weird. But I'm not one to judge. When I was fourteen, I dated a guy who was nineteen." She frowned at the face Kurt made. "Now _you're_ judging _me_?"

"Him—not you."

"He wasn't… It was my idea. And we never, you know… _did_ anything. Not when I was fourteen."

"But you did… later?"

Kitty's frown deepened "Okay, you know what? This got way too personal, way too fast." She'd already told him entirely too much. She was supposed to have the upper hand; she was more knowledgeable, more experienced, older. But somehow, this man—this _boy_ —who was less than an hour removed from staggering to the bathroom and only two days removed from a nightmare, was making her feel more unmoored than her own Kurt ever had.

"Once again, my apologies," said Kurt, genuinely this time. "Perhaps it's the nature of our meeting. I feel you've come to know me rather intimately, and find myself wanting to catch up."

That mollified her somewhat. He was unmoored, too, trying to find his footing with a stranger who'd first encountered him in a freak show.

In a calmer tone, Kitty asked, "How much do you remember from the past two days?"

"I remember _someone_ helping me to the bathroom," he replied. "I can only assume that was you."

"I'm studying to be a doctor, so it's not, you know—"

"Kitty—please. It's okay. I make jokes when I'm… And I meant what I said. I am grateful. Not embarrassed."

"We've still barely talked about it," she observed.

Kurt took a moment to sip his water. "We can, if you'd like. Personally, though—I would rather try to forget."

Suddenly, Kitty decided that getting Kurt back to Germany would have to wait. She wasn't going to let him simply forget what had been done to him, or pretend to forget, hiding his pain behind a smile, like he always did. Forgiveness was great, but justice was better. She'd probably already messed up the timeline; she was ready to mess it up more if it meant making sure the Jardine Circus wasn't keeping any other mutants hostage, and that they wouldn't do so again, tomorrow, next week, or seven years from now.

"I have a friend like that," she said, meeting one pair of golden eyes while recalling another. "He tries to look on the bright side of everything, always has a smile for everyone. I love that about him—he's the kindest, bravest person I know. But sometimes, I think it might make him lonely, listening to everyone else's problems, and never talking about his own."

"You prefer talking?"

"Sometimes. But mostly, I like confronting my problems directly."

"And what do you do, once you confront them?"

Kitty raised her chin, and regarded him squarely. "When it's a problem like a bigoted asshole who gets off on torturing mutants—I like to punch them in the face."

Kurt's lips twitched ahead of a sputter of dry laughter. "I knew I liked you."

"I'm not kidding."

Kurt reined in his mirth, and swallowed. "I've never punched anyone."

That struck Kitty as the strangest thing she'd yet heard. "What—really?"

"You have?"

"I mean, yeah, a few times…" she muttered, pushing toast crumbs around her plate.

"You are full of surprises, Kitty Pryde."

Kitty didn't know how to respond to that. Thankfully, Kurt picked up the slack. "So what are you proposing—on a practical level?"

That was a question she was prepared for. "First, I'm going to call in a few anonymous tips to some animal rights groups and the labor board. But while we wait for that to get sorted out, I say we go back to the circus at night, and put the fear of God into that asshole owner."

"That would be Monsieur Jardine. He is, as you say, das Arschloch who runs the circus."

"Thanks for expanding my vocabulary."

"Anytime. But how, exactly, would we go about this? We're only two people."

"We're two _mutants_."

"And…?"

"I've got powers. So do you."

"I'm a _trapeze artist_ ," Kurt reminded her.

"That's not all you can do, though—is it?"

"I don't—"

"There must be some reason Jardine kept you so drugged up."

Kurt leaned back in his chair, tail flicking where it dangled behind him. "I do have another ability."

"If we're really gonna do this," she said, "I need to know what we're working with."

"It would be easier to show you."

"Only if you're up to it."

"I think so." Kurt rose to his feet, and proceeded to the furthest corner of the kitchen. "But—you have to promise you won't be afraid."

"I promise." It took all her willpower not to tell him to get on with it, so she could get on with pretending to be impressed by something she'd seen a thousand times.

"There's also a smell involved, which isn't my—"

" _Kurt_ ," she protested, no longer able to stop herself. "Just do it already."

"You asked for it…"

He should have teleported, but instead of the usual echo-y combustion of air, there was only a small, empty pop, and Kurt remained where he was, looking confused and at least a bit embarrassed. "I swear to you—this never happens to me."

"It's the inhibitor," she told him, hoping the smile she was fighting appeared sympathetic instead of amused. "It's probably still in your system."

"Inhibitor?"

"It's a drug that dampens mutant powers."

"Ah, well—that explains it," he muttered, rejoining her at the table.

"So what should I have seen?"

"I can… teleport."

"Teleport?" Inwardly, she applauded her Oscar-worthy performance of ignorance.

"Ja. Usually, I can move from one place to another, simply by thinking about it."

"Sounds useful for busting up a crooked circus."

"Assuming my power returns…"

"It will," she promised. "The drug's temporary. Once it wears off, you'll be up and BAMF'ing again, no problem."

"BAMF'ing?" Kurt echoed.

"East Coast slang," she lied. "Sorry."

"How do you know all these things?" he wondered. "About mutants, and powers, and inhibitors?"

With as much confidence as she could muster, she met his gaze, and said, "I told you—I'm studying to be a doctor."

She was sure Kurt knew she was sidestepping; she'd learned that maneuver from him, after all. But he kept his questions limited to immediate concerns. "Beautiful _and_ smart. And of course talented. You can pass through objects, yes?"

"Among other things. I call it phasing."

"Sounds like science fiction."

"And yet—we're both real."

"Yes," he agreed. "And about to play at being superheroes."

"I'm not playing, Kurt. Are you?"

Kurt absorbed her seriousness, and matched it. "No."

"Then we better come up with a plan."

"Where do we start?"

"I generally like to start with a map of the target."

"I only saw part of it, unfortunately, before I was drugged."

Kitty slipped the brochure out her pocket, and tapped it playfully against her cheek. "Then it's a good thing I picked this up on my way out."

"To be sure I understand you correctly," said Kurt, "we are about to plan a daring midnight raid on a crooked circus based on a map in a tourist flyer."

"You got a problem with that?"

"On the contrary. I already knew I liked you. Now I think I may have to marry you."

He was clearly joking, but the smile he used to punctuate his words still sent a rush of color into her cheeks. Kitty hoped it wasn't as obvious as it felt as she spread the brochure across the table, and declared, "Want to get started?"

They planned for a while, picking prime entry and exit points, devising a search pattern to investigate the possibility of other captives, and brainstorming the best ways to corner Jardine. They ate as they planned, Kitty munching on an orange and some trail mix while Kurt managed to eat both the yogurt and the apple, without rushing to the bathroom to reject them. After a while, though, Kurt began to fade. He started agreeing to things absently, holding his heavy chin in his hand and shifting in his seat in a futile effort to disguise several obvious yawns.

"Why don't we take a break?" Kitty suggested. "We can always pick this up later."

When she said it, Kurt was in the middle of trying to cover another yawn with a stretch, shirt inching up to expose his improbably soft and hard midsection. "I'm fine. We can—"

"Seriously, Kurt. You've been through hell—you need to rest. If we're gonna do this, I want you at your best."

He lowered his arms, and looked at her, a mysterious smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything. But also… for believing I can be better."

It took her a moment to find her voice. When she did, her words were thoroughly inadequate. "No problem."

Kurt didn't seem to mind. He continued to study her face, golden eyes moving subtly over her features, like each one was precious.

"Go," she urged, speaking as much to herself as to him. "Take a nap. I need a shower, anyway."

"Very well," he agreed, pushing himself to his feet. "If you need me, I'll be right over here. Probably unconscious. Hopefully not snoring."

"You don't snore," she told him, which was true; other than the occasional sounds anyone made, she'd always known him to be a quiet sleeper.

"Good to know," he returned, flashing another mysterious smile before meandering toward the bed.

Kitty watched him go and realized—it was going to be another long day.

…

Kurt woke again that afternoon, and they shared some soup and sandwiches before flipping through tv channels, which was interesting for her because it was the past, and interesting for Kurt because it was America. It was strange to remember it was Kurt's first time in a country he'd later call home. When she'd first met him, she'd been the fish out of water, while he'd seemed wholly acclimated to life with the X-Men. Back then, she'd never even left the country, while Kurt had visited every continent, in addition to alternate dimensions and outer space.

When he started to fade again, she said, "I was thinking of going out for a bit. Doing some reconnaissance."

"I'll come with you," he replied, already making a move to push himself off the bed.

"I know you're probably anxious to get out of here," she acknowledged. "But it'll be faster if I go alone. I know what I'm looking for, and you still need to rest." She didn't want to leave him, but was sure she was right. She needed to find an appropriate location for them to do some more planning and training, and it would be far easier to do that without having to worry about Kurt; he'd be safer at the motel than stashed in the back of the Neon.

She could tell Kurt wasn't pleased, but his body was less willing that his brain; despite his bid to help her, he hadn't actually succeeded in convincing himself to stand. His voice was flat when he said, "If that's what you think is best."

"It is. But before I go…" Kitty retrieved the second flip phone from her supplies, and handed it to Kurt. "If anything happens—if anyone shows up at the door, if anyone who isn't me so much as _walks by_ the door—press this button to call me, then leave the line open, and try to keep the phone on you. That way, I'll know where to find you."

Kurt eyed her as he accepted the phone. "That's very thoughtful. But I assure you—I _can_ take care of myself."

"I thought you said you'd never punched anyone," she reminded him.

"I said that I _had not_. Not that I _could not_."

Kitty blinked, considering, once again, how the tables had turned. He sounded like her years ago, when Xaxier had tried to demote her to the New Mutants. She hadn't taken no for an answer, and knew Kurt wouldn't, either. She was also, of course, very aware of what a healthy Kurt was capable of. This Kurt might not be a superhero, but that didn't mean he lacked gifts or talents.

"Tell you what," she said. "Let me do this now, and tomorrow, I'll give you a chance to show me what you can do."

"Why—what's tomorrow?"

"If I can find a suitable location during my little reconnaissance trip—we're gonna start training."

"I'm no stranger to _training_ ," Kurt assured her.

"We'll see. But first—you need to rest."

"Unfortunately, I agree with you," said Kurt, sighing as he massaged his neck with his hand. "I can't remember ever feeling quite this exhausted."

"Inhibitors and a boatload of who-knows-what-else will do that," she sympathized.

Kurt made a small, amused sound as he sank back toward the pillow, eyelids already fluttering.

When Kitty returned from the bathroom after changing her clothes, Kurt was deeply asleep. As she stood at the foot of the bed and watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, she knew she was being given another chance. She could still leave him there, make her way to Westchester, and hope that when this Kurt met her younger self two years later, he might have forgotten her, or consider it a coincidence, not worth dwelling on. She rejected the thought out of hand. She'd committed to her course, made promises and plans. She'd let Kurt down once before—when they'd first met, and she'd rejected his kindness, irrationally afraid of features she'd grown to love. When they'd finally become friends, she'd sworn to herself she'd never let him down again. So far, she hadn't. And she wasn't about to start now.

And so, after a trip to the gas station to purchase additional maps and a quick survey of the warehouse district by the canal, she returned to the Siesta Motel, opening the door carefully and tiptoeing inside, anxious not to wake a man who'd begun working his way into her heart for the second time in her still-short life. Kurt was still sleeping, and soon, so was she, lying a few feet away, just like they'd done in the past, and would hopefully do in the future, if she hadn't already ruined it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Kurt's not unconscious anymore! No one's happier about that than me. The details about Kurt's background referenced throughout this chapter have appeared in various comics at various times; I won't trouble you with an extensive list of references (Wikipedia does a better job than I would!).
> 
> Next: Training! If Kitty's this hot and bothered about young Kurt smiling at her, how's she ever gonna survive him smiling at her with a sword in his hand? ;) Hoping to get the next chapter out there in a week or two. Stay Tuned!


	4. Interlude- Present Tense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wonder what present-Kurt has been up to since Kitty's been gone?

**Chapter Four: Interlude—Present Tense**

It happened so quickly, as awful things sometimes do. One moment, Kurt was holding Kitty's hand, straining to get a better grip, but nonetheless sure he had her; he didn't usually drop things, especially when those things were people, and especially when those people were Kitty. A moment later, he'd lost her.

He called her name as she fell, as though giving voice to his desperation could stop her from falling. But it didn't; as he screamed Kitty's name into the void, the pitiless void groaned, swirled, and swallowed her. Kurt would have fallen with her—would have gladly done so, if it meant he wouldn't have to lose her like he'd done years ago, across a span of unknown dimensions. But even as he loosed his tail from the railing with the intent of tumbling after her, the portal wailed, flared, and contracted, at which point it exploded outwards, knocking him back against a heavy steel cabinet, hard enough to bruise several ribs. He grunted instinctively at the pain and then watched, dumbfounded, as the portal disappeared, winking out of existence with Kitty inside it.

The lab was deafeningly quiet after that, the alarms terminating when the portal did. Kurt sat where he'd landed for several long heartbeats, staring at the place the portal had been, which was also the last place he'd seen Kitty—the last place he'd ever see Kitty, if they couldn't figure out where she'd gone, and how to get her back.

Heedless of his protesting ribs, Kurt hurled himself to his feet and into a teleport that took him back up to the catwalk, where Hank was still scanning readings and nimbly manipulating buttons.

"Henry! We have to get her back! We have to—"

"I'm _trying_ Kurt. If you'll give me a moment to concentrate."

Kurt knotted his hands into fists as he dutifully paced away. He clenched his jaw, and when that wasn't satisfying, he sank his fangs into his cheek. After the requisite moment, he spun back to the man responsible for losing his best friend. "Well?"

Hank stopped what he was doing, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "I'm sorry, Kurt."

" _Sorry_?" Kurt echoed, incredulous. "You _created_ that verdammt portal—open it again and get her back."

"I _can't_ ," said Hank, turning to affix Kurt with his cat-like eyes. "The cube's energy was powering the portal. But I can't detect any trace of the cube's power signature in the lab, or anywhere else. It's simply… gone."

"It dissipated in the explosion?"

"So it seems."

"There must be some substitute. There are other energy sources, other—"

"Kurt."

Kurt glared at the man whose fault this was, barely able to contain his rage.

"I'll do everything I can to find her," said Hank. "I won't sleep until I've fixed this."

Kurt knew he was telling the truth. Hank had been his friend even longer than Kitty had, and loved Kitty as much as he did. Or, nearly as much… But he was still angry. Not just angry—furious. It was all so needless, so cruel, so…

Kurt ground his teeth to stop the sound he wanted to make as he pivoted away from Hank, and put some distance between them. Once he'd accomplished that, he placed his hands on the railing and dropped his head between his arms, closing his eyes as he willed his tail to stop thrashing. It wasn't Hank's fault. Or maybe it was, but it was also his own fault, just like the last time he'd lost her. Kitty had wanted to drive the Widget car across the deserts of the racing world while he and Alistaire performed repairs on their cross-dimensional train, and because he'd been young and dumb and irrationally optimistic, he'd let her. He'd let a fourteen-year-old girl explore a strange and potentially hostile alternate dimension, unsupervised, behind the wheel of an equally strange car she wouldn't have been old enough to drive even if had been a proper car, which it most assuredly hadn't been. Now, even though he was older and liked to think he was wiser, he'd done it again. He should have separated the cube from the Cerebro helmet. Should have insisted on it. Should have refused to take no for an answer. Even if it resulted in Kitty hating him, and even if he'd gotten lost in her stead, it would have been worth it not to be stuck in Westchester while Kitty was who-knows-where, alone and friendless without a means get home.

He started at the hand that touched him, curling over his shoulder like the animal paw it so closely resembled.

"We'll get her back, Kurt. I promise."

Kurt released a long breath as he straightened, and a ran a slow hand through his disheveled hair. "Ja," he agreed. "We will." He met Hank's gaze to add, "But I'm holding you to your promise. Neither of us will sleep until we find her."

Hank's leonine face nodded, and smiled a little, not happily, but gratefully. "You have my word."

Kurt followed Hank back toward the computer terminal, ready to do whatever he could to help. It was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Kurt, it's not your fault—it's clearly Hank's! Always Hank's! Just kidding—I love Hank, and he'll get a chance to make up for it in a future chapter. I mean, who hasn't accidentally opened a few inter-dimensional portals that subsequently swallowed their friends? Kitty actually did this to Kurt way back in the 1985 Nightcrawler miniseries, so, you know—everyone could stand to be a little more careful around the ol' X-Mansion.
> 
> Just one canon thing: Kitty gets separated from the team and subsequently "lost" in Excalibur #18. Kurt was not as irresponsible there as I'm making him seem here, but these are his perceptions of his actions—not mine.
> 
> Next: Back to the past for Training!


	5. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kitty and Kurt do some training, among other things...

**Chapter Five: Training**

Kitty woke up on her fourth day in the past to the right amount of sunshine but the wrong amount of roommates. Kurt was gone. He wasn't in his bed, wasn't in the bathroom. Wasn't in the kitchenette or even the closet. The phone she'd given him remained on the nightstand, exactly where she'd placed it the night before.

She was storming out of the bathroom, fresh off making sure its window didn't open and cursing herself for not checking earlier, when she was stopped in her tracks by a familiar combustion of air and blast of brimstone.

"Good news!" Kurt declared, beaming a smile as purple smoke dissipated around him.

"It better be," Kitty intoned.

"I can teleport again!"

Kitty crossed her arms securely over her chest. "That's it?"

"I also brought you breakfast," Kurt replied, right hand emerging from behind his back to present a tray of coffee with a small paper bag tucked between the disposable cups. "It's just coffee and donuts from the lobby, but as they say—it's the thought that counts."

All the stress and worry of the past four days exploded in her chest as she barked, "What the _hell_ , Kurt! You need to be careful! What if you didn't have the strength to get back? What if someone saw you? What if—"

" _Kitty_. I was careful. I feel fine. And no one saw me."

"That's not the _point_ ," Kitty grumbled.

"Did you not hear me when I said I could take care of myself?"

He sounded frustrated, but mostly he sounded hurt. Kitty knew the feeling. It was the same way she'd felt four days ago, back at the Institute, when she'd thought Kurt might have forgotten about her. And the same way she'd felt five minutes ago, when she'd woken up and found Kurt missing.

Kitty uncrossed her arms, and expelled a noisy sigh. "You're right. I'm sorry. I was just… worried."

Kurt slid the tray onto the dresser and took a tentative step toward her, trying to catch her gaze. "Now I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

"I think I know how you can make it up to me," Kitty offered.

"Anything."

She met his gaze and managed a hint of a smile. "You said something about breakfast?"

He returned her smile, and just like that, things were better—just like they always were with Kurt.

After their leisurely breakfast, showers were had, and more time was wasted, because it felt like they had time to waste. Throughout, Kitty kept a watchful eye on Kurt, mindful of her experience with his tendency to downplay both injuries and traumas. But he seemed well—hungry, energetic, and keen to get moving. Kitty was surprised he wasn't already climbing the walls—or walking on the ceiling. The day before, his stretches had tried to cover yawns. Now, they tried to cover how badly he wanted to work out his newfound energy, and get back to enjoying his usual athletic gifts.

Finally, they were ready to venture out, heading to the abandoned warehouse by the canal that Kitty had identified the night before as a perfect place to evaluate the tactical abilities of this nineteen-year-old version of Kurt, who'd never punched anyone but seemed very confident that he could. She was wearing yoga pants with a grey tank top, and Kurt was wearing a fresh pair of black sweatpants paired with a white t-shirt and a zip-up hooded sweatshirt. The sweatshirt was for the sake of anonymity rather than the weather, which continued to be sticky and steamy.

As they drove, Kurt watched everything with interest, slouched low in his seat with his hood flipped up over his pointed ears. It was a thoroughly inadequate daytime disguise if anyone chose to look too closely. But especially after misjudging him that morning, Kitty wasn't about to make him hide in the backseat on his first proper tour of an American city, or at least the strip malls, gas stations, and box stores dotting the highways between cities. Some degree of hiding was, unfortunately, necessary, both because the American public wasn't yet aware of Kurt's existence, and because they were still uncomfortably close to the location of the freak show he'd recently escaped from.

Kurt was still gazing out the window as he said, "It's so strange."

"What is?" Kitty wondered.

"All these stores, and so few people."

"You'll get used to it," she assured him.

"You think I'll be here that long?"

Kitty met his gaze across the seats. "I don't know… When were you planning on going back to Germany?"

"I've always wanted to travel," Kurt replied, attention wandering back to the window. "That's why I came here. Jardine offered me a chance to 'see the world.' But… I have to go back. Sooner rather than later."

He didn't sound particularly enthused by the prospect; Kitty wondered if it had anything to do with Amanda—or her mother, Margali, a sorceress whose motives had often been questionable. "Have you tried calling Am—I mean Jimaine again?"

"I called her while you were out last night," Kurt confirmed. "And again this morning, while you were in the shower."

"And?"

"Still no answer."

"It's a pretty big time difference," Kitty offered, though she was starting to worry, too—both about the whereabouts of Amanda, and the fact that Kurt was being relatively secretive about it.

She started to ask, "Do you think—"

"What are your plans?" asked Kurt. "Once we finish this business with Jardine?"

"I need to go back," Kitty replied. "To New York."

"Driving, or flying?"

"Driving, probably."

"Hm."

"What?"

Kurt turned to look at her as he said, "Just that—your car has a Florida license plate."

"I bought it here," said Kitty, forcing her eyes back to the road. "To drive back to New York."

"That makes sense," said Kurt, turning back toward the window.

Kitty swallowed as she eyed him in the mirror. What she could see of his face was frustratingly inscrutable. He couldn't possibly suspect her real circumstances. But he certainly suspected something. And who wouldn't? She'd been considerably less open about her background and reasons for being there than Kurt had been. She could probably coast a bit longer on goodwill. But sooner or later, things would come to a head, and she'd be faced with some difficult choices—whether to tell him the truth (or some version of it) or leave him to find his own way. Both choices would hurt him. They'd also hurt her; she was starting to enjoy having him around, and wasn't looking forward to facing the uncertainty of her situation without him by her side. But she had no one to blame for that but herself. She could have left days ago, before he'd woken up. She could also have jumped a little further from the portal, or held Kurt's hand a little tighter.

She could only imagine what her Kurt was going through back in Westchester. He didn't get angry very often, but when he did, it could be… She hesitated to invoke the word "scary," stomach churning at the thought of Kurt somehow hearing her think it. But scary was better than the other word that came to mind when she thought about the few times she'd seen Kurt really let lose it, his forked tail thrashing as his golden eyes burned, snarling mouth baring fangs that suddenly looked very sharp. She could almost imagine him turning that passion on Hank, but if he did, it would be brief. Mostly, he'd be angry at himself. Kurt was always most angry at himself.

"Are you okay?"

Kitty blinked, and shot a glance at the man who both was and wasn't the one she'd been thinking about. As he looked at her, his golden eyes were brimming with warmth—not the demonic kind, but the kind that made her heart ache, to have someone so good care so deeply about her feelings. It would be such a relief to tell him—to explain and be forgiven in his voice.

"Yeah," she managed. "Yeah, of course—why?"

"You seemed… far away."

"Just thinking."

"About going back home?"

He really was annoyingly perceptive. "Yeah, a little. I left in a bit of a hurry, and… it'll be good to get back."

Kurt nodded slowly, watching the sun-soaked highway unfurl before them. "You must have people who miss you."

"A few," she admitted. She forced a smile as she added, "But some of them aren't so far away."

Kurt returned her smile, cautiously but with the same warmth. That should have made her feel better, but didn't. Each time she came closer to telling him the truth, the worse she felt about lying.

Sometime later, they pulled into a paved expanse sparsely dotted with cars, trucks, and the odd construction crane. On a Sunday afternoon, the collection of warehouses lining the canal was even more deserted than it had been the day before. The warehouse Kitty had chosen for their training session was thoroughly vacant, and had been for some time. The only signs of recent life in the two-story brick building with boards nailed over all the windows that weren't already broken were graffiti tags and souvenirs from what looked like a rave; there were a broken glow sticks and plastic cups scattered across the concrete floor inside the building as well as smatterings of broken glass, white from the windows and green and brown from beer bottles.

Kitty looked back at Kurt, who was still cringing a little from the experience of phasing through the wall. She would have shaken her head at that, except she was used to it; her Kurt similarly disliked phasing, almost as much as she disliked teleporting.

"Are you gonna be okay?" she asked.

"Once I'm sure I haven't disintegrated," said Kurt, "I'm sure I'll be fine."

"I was actually referring to the amount of broken glass in here." For the sake of anonymity, Kurt had squeezed his unique feet into a pair of sneakers; his tail was also safely tucked away inside his sweatpants. But she knew he'd want to liberate both for their training session; she would too, if her natural features came with the same advantages as Kurt's.

"I'll be okay," Kurt replied. "I'm used to being careful." He was already kicking off his shoes and unzipping his sweatshirt, while simultaneously performing a move so subtle, Kitty almost missed it, in which he quickly slipped one hand part of the way inside the waistband of his pants, and suddenly, his tail swung free. She was almost angry at the effortlessness of the gesture, given how much difficulty she'd had dealing with Kurt's extra appendage a few days before.

"And are you okay otherwise?" she wondered, walking further into the space. The air seemed to get stickier with each step she took. She hadn't neglected to consider how hot it would be inside an un-airconditioned warehouse on a sweltering summer afternoon in south Florida. But considering that fact was very different from experiencing it. By the time she reached the approximate center of the building, she was dearly missing her temperature-controlled unstable molecule X-Men uniform.

Behind her, Kurt said, "I think so…"

"No dizziness? No nausea?"

"Nothing remarkable."

"That wasn't a no."

"I'm fine," said Kurt, flashing a smile. "I'm sure I'm more than ready for whatever you have in mind."

Kitty cocked an eyebrow. "In that case, we might as well get started."

"How would you like to begin?"

"Attack me."

Kurt regarded her quizzically. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Yes, but I'm not sure I understood you."

"If you don't, I will."

"I don't—"

She cut him off with one of her best moves, faking high and hitting low. Kurt's lightning quick reflexes allowed him to dodge her kick, but barely; his expression was significantly less confident as he took several quick steps back, out of the reach of feet.

"I was going to say—I don't want to hit you."

Kitty resumed a fighter's stance, fists flexing at her sides. "Don't worry—you won't."

Before Kurt could decide how to respond to her barb, she attacked him again. He caught her fist in his, but the showiness of that left him unprepared for her using his grip against him. Kitty jerked her arm down and to the right, spinning Kurt to the side, at which point she phased herself out of his grip. As he paused to marvel at that, she solidified and kicked him—gently—in the backside, sending him stumbling forward.

When he pivoted to face her, she expected him to be angry, or at the very least embarrassed. He wasn't; though his lips weren't quite smiling, his eyes were, golden depths glittering in his dark face.

"I'm impressed," he remarked.

"I'm not," she returned, though she was smiling, too, close-lipped and mischievous, realizing that a training session she'd expected to be a chore had the potential to be considerably more fun. She should have known better; Kurt was still Kurt, after all.

They slowly circled each other, both of them performatively casual. Kitty already had sweat dotting her brow and tickling her lower back, and Kurt did, too; as he moved, she could see the loose folds of his t-shirt catching on his fur.

"You realize I could simply teleport away from you," said Kurt.

"And I could phase. That's why from here on out, we're gonna do this without powers."

Half of Kurt's mouth hitched up. "Very well."

He attacked with speed, but without his usual skill. Kitty blocked him easily, and once again sent him stumbling. He tried to trip her with his tail, but she was ready for that, too, seizing it midway down its length and giving a secure tug that made Kurt inhale a sharp breath and quickly retreat. Her next kick grazed his hip, and for a moment, he appeared certain to fall. Kitty lunged forward to press her advantage, but as she did so, Kurt landed his weight on the palm of his right hand, and suddenly, he was airborne, sailing clean over her body as he executed a high-arcing flip that he landed with his customary grace, unique feet easily absorbing the impact.

If she hadn't seen that move before, Kitty might have been staggered by its sheer improbability; the world's best human gymnast had nothing on Kurt, for whom gravity often seemed like an option instead of a rule. But she had seen that move before—many times. So, as he hit the air, she hit the ground, skidding across the floor to arrive at the perfect spot to kick out his legs, and finally knock him down. While he coughed his surprise, she pinned him, straddling his hips and locking an arm bar under his chin.

Kurt was lightly panting under her weight; as hot as the warehouse was for her, it would be hotter for someone with fur. But he didn't seem to mind. Quite the contrary; as she felt his velvet coated, sweat-misted flesh pulse and pant against her own warm muscles, Kitty got the distinct impression Kurt was exactly where he wanted to be.

Kitty rolled off his body and pushed herself to her feet, which felt newly clumsy, and definitely reluctant. They didn't seem to want go where she wanted them to—namely, away from Kurt, and the very visceral, very recent memory of the confusing way her gut had swirled at the sight of him smiling up at her while she pressed his sweaty fur into the dusty concrete.

"As enjoyable as that was," Kurt remarked, brushing himself off as he climbed to his feet. "I feel as though you have me at a disadvantage."

When she turned, she saw him making his way across the building, toward a tangled mess of building supplies. He investigated for a moment before retrieving two short, straight lengths of slightly rusty rebar. On his way back to the center of the building, he tossed one in her general direction. She caught it easily, with a question on her face. Kurt held his piece of rebar at one end and dextrously twirled it, much like he might do with a sword.

Brightly, he said, "Perhaps we could level the playing field."

Kitty adjusted her grip on the rebar, and forced down a swallow. She wasn't a slouch at sword fighting. Logan had trained her with a katana, and Kurt had trained her with cutlasses and rapiers. But she couldn't recall ever feeling as disarmed in those training sessions as she currently felt in this one, in which she was meant to be the teacher. She was acutely aware of the sweat trickling down her front as she watched Kurt transfer his makeshift sword to his tail to roll up the sleeves of his t-shirt, exposing all the lean muscles in his lanky indigo arms. As he took the rebar back into his hand, he tossed his wavy hair off his forehead and assumed a fencing stance, sun glinting in his fang-tipped smile. "En garde."

Kitty indulged a steadying breath, and tightened her grip.

The first few passes were largely routine, a cautious testing of defenses. Kitty achieved the first hit, which earned her an appreciative smile.

"Will I ever cease to be impressed by your talents?" Kurt wondered.

"That depends," Kitty replied.

"On what?"

"On whether you keep giving me chances to impress you."

He chucked a bit as he launched his next volley. He was quicker this time, and more careful, respecting the revelation of her skill. Several flurries of lunges and parries ended with Kurt tagging her under her ribs.

"You got lucky," she scoffed, smoothing sweat and stray hairs off her brow.

"We'll see. Ready for round three?"

Kitty started to reply, but the words died on her lips when Kurt began peeling his damp t-shirt up his torso. He already had his shirt half off before he said, "Do you mind? This heat would challenge me at the best of times."

"No," said Kitty, a bit too quickly. "No, it's, um—it's fine."

Kurt passed the rebar back to his tail to finish pulling off his shirt, then walked back to where they'd entered to hang it on a nail next to his sweatshirt. Kitty watched him the entire time, openly when his back was turned, and discretely when it wasn't. The hazy light spilling through the few windows that still had their glass kept doing unpredictable things to his misty fur and the taut muscles shifting under it. Sometimes, his fur looked flat and vaguely shadowy. Other times, it fairly dazzled, each bead of sweat like a tiny liquid diamond snaking through silk velvet, forming glittering trails that poured through the subtle groove of his pecs before bumping down the ladder of his abs. But then, Kurt always looked like that—didn't he?

He stopped a dozen feet away, stretched, and swiped his forearm across his brow before wiping a hand across his chest and wiping both hands on his pants, feet flexing on the concrete as his tail curled and snapped behind his knees.

His tone was musically innocent as he said, "I hope you're prepared to taste my steel."

Kitty dutifully moved back into her fencing stance, thankful for the excuse to keep him at arm's length, and wondering why each day seemed to feel longer than the one before.

…

After confirming that nineteen-year-old Kurt was nearly as good with a (makeshift) sword as twenty-six-year-old Kurt, Kitty managed to collect her faculties enough to teach him a few hand-to-hand self-defense moves and some other basic attacks, things he might need if they encountered resistance upon their return to the circus. Kitty wasn't taking for granted how easy it had been to break in and out the first time. Anyone with access to power dampeners had the potential to be dangerous, and it seemed likely that Jardine and whatever scumbags were willingly in his employ would be more prepared for intruders after the unexplained escape of the circus's star attraction.

Kurt was a quick study with everything she taught him. He rarely had to be shown something more than once before all but mastering it, and demonstrated nearly boundless enthusiasm for learning new skills. Kitty wasn't immune to the strangeness of being Kurt's teacher. She'd taught him things before, of course—about physics, chemistry, electronics, and computers, things she loved dearly, about which Kurt's enthusiasm was more tempered. He liked mechanical things when they required physical effort, but anything that entailed sitting still for hours at a time had always been a hard sell; Kurt was hard-wired for action, and always would be. That's what made it strange teaching him fighting moves. Kitty had her own physical gifts, and had cultivated plenty of athletic skills over the course of her life, both as a superhero and before, when she'd been almost as passionate about ballet as she'd been about programming languages. But Kurt's athleticism was quite obviously superior. Moves she'd spent years trying to perfect came easily to him, his mind in perfect harmony with his preternaturally quick and flexible body.

Now, it was evening, and they were parked at a fortuitously deserted lookout point, which mostly looked out on malls and highways, but did feature a lovely view of the orange sun's descent toward a horizon dotted with palm trees. It was still hot, but a cooler breeze had rolled in, probably hailing from the not-so-distant ocean. There were sitting together on the hood of the Neon, finishing fish tacos and tangy swiss chard coleslaw drizzled with avocado, washed down with lightly carbonated limeade.

"That was amazing," Kurt sighed, reclining against the windshield as he closed his eyes against the sun.

"The food, or losing to me at fencing?"

Kurt didn't bother to correct her; though she'd bested him in hand-to-hand combat, he'd indisputably won at fencing. Instead, he merely smiled dreamily, and said, "Both."

Kitty slurped down the last of her limeade and reclined halfway, keeping herself propped up on her elbows. Kurt was stretched all the way out next to her, one hand tucked behind his head, the other resting on his midsection, just above the taut inch of exposed fur between his sweatshirt and his pants. He hadn't bothered with his sweaty t-shirt, settling instead for rolling up the sleeves of his sweatshirt and leaving the top generously unzipped. He wasn't wearing his shoes, either; one bare foot was crossed over the other at the edge of the hood, and his tail was hooked over his ankle. That was safe enough for the moment; the gravel path meant they'd have plenty of advance warning of any approaching footsteps or car tires. But Kitty still kept her eyes open, gaze alternating between the horizon and the space around them.

"You did good back there," she told him.

"I'm so glad you approve."

Kitty blinked at his turn of phrase, which her Kurt had used during their last conversation, when they'd been planning their trip to Miami.

"Where'd you learn how to fence?" she wondered.

"At first, I learned the same way I learned English—from movies. I loved old adventure movies when I was a child—anything with pirates or Errol Flynn. We've also had various sword specialists attached to the circus over the years. Some parents would not have let their six-year-old play with rapiers. But my foster mother was always… indulgent."

"She probably saw what I did," Kitty said. "You're born for it."

"For fencing?"

"For lots of things. I can't believe how quickly you picked up the stuff I taught you."

"Physical things have always come easy," said Kurt. "It's been a problem throughout my life, in fact. I get bored, and need to invent new challenges."

"Big top's never high enough, huh?"

Kurt made an amused sound, once again smiling dreamily. "I would like it to be ten times as high."

"So what's your next challenge?"

Kurt opened one eye. "Hm?"

"If you're bored by the big top," she replied, "you'll need to move on to something else."

Kurt pushed himself up and pulled his legs with him, resting his forearms on his knees. "I'm not sure. I love performing, but sometimes, I feel as though I could do more. God gave me these gifts—there must be some purpose. I would like to… I don't know… help people, somehow."

"You will," she assured him. She knew she shouldn't have said it, but couldn't stop herself, disarmed by Kurt's simple honesty.

"You think so?"

"I know so."

His lips twitched a bit, like he thought she might be joking. But it was sometimes hard to tell, since Kurt also found humor in the most serious things.

After a moment, he said, "So who are these people who miss you? Family? Friends?"

Kitty gathered up her own knees and copied his pose, minus the tail curled over his foot, spade tip occasionally slapping against the hood. She replied, "Little from column a, little from column b…"

"You still haven't told me whether you have a boyfriend." When she hesitated, he amended, "Or perhaps a girlfriend…?"

"I've had boyfriends before," she offered. "But… I don't have one right now."

"Did you break up recently?"

"About a year."

Kurt stared at her. "You've been single for a _year_?"

Kitty's gaze faltered. She hadn't thought a year seemed like such a long time. "I mean, I've been _busy_ …"

Kurt shook his head in lament as he returned his gaze to the sun creeping ever lower on the horizon. "You seem like someone who takes her work seriously. That's something I understand. But I do find myself questioning the priorities of American men."

"Can't argue there," Kitty conceded. "My last two boyfriends were British and Russian."

"But you were born here?"

"Yeah, but my family is Jewish. I've got some relatives in Israel, a few in Europe… and lots that died there."

When Kurt looked at her, all trace of humor was gone from his face. "I'm so sorry."

"Pretty sure that was before your time," she pointed out.

"My foster family is Romani. They were targeted also. I've met survivors… and heard many stories."

Kitty looked down at her white running shoes, speckled with dust from the warehouse. "The Nazis targeted mutants, too."

"I've never heard that."

"Not a lot of people know, but… I've met one. The Nazis experimented on him." She left out the fact that the same man had tried to kill both Kurt and herself many times, which didn't make what had been done to him any less appalling.

"Mein Gott…" Kurt readjusted his weight, running a hand through his hair before rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know why I'm surprised. I'm sure they would have done the same to me, had I been born during that time."

"Either that, or they would have tried to recruit you…" Kitty had met a version of Kurt who'd been corrupted by Belasco—the devil himself, or at least one of them. Encountering an alternate timeline in which Kurt was a gleefully sadistic Nazi had been infinitely worse.

Kurt sighed. "Ja… I imagine the same people who embraced the Red Skull would have been entzückt to employ a demonic foot soldier."

Kitty's hand moved of its own accord as she reached across her body, and touched his forearm. "You're not a demon, Kurt."

Kurt pulled his gaze from the sky to the sight of her pink fingers on his indigo fur. "How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Somehow, you always seem to know the right thing to say."

"That is… not something anyone has ever said about me."

"Once again, I find myself questioning the judgement of your compatriots." He met her gaze and added, "You strike me as someone honest—who is not shy with her opinions or talents. Anyone who doesn't value that is a fool."

For a long moment, Kitty found herself both struggling to meet his golden gaze and struggling to look away. It sounded like something her Kurt might think, but not something he'd say—not like that, so clear and direct. That was the biggest difference, she realized, between this Kurt and hers. It wasn't the years, or even the experience. It was the openness, in general, but especially with her. Despite the fact she called Kurt her best friend and thought about him as family, there was so much he kept from her. Not just big things, like being imprisoned in a circus in Florida, but little ones, too, like how he felt after a breakup or what he valued most about women he'd dated. It wasn't just because she was younger; for years, Kurt had treated her like an adult in virtually every other way. It was something deeper than that. Something, or perhaps many things, had happened, or would happen, to make this Kurt more like the one she was used to, who remained quick with smiles and flattery but guarded with everything else, including his real feelings about both himself and the people he loved. No wonder he kept going back to Amanda. She was the only one who'd known him before—the only one he'd _allowed_ to know him as both an X-Man and a trapeze artist with vague but beautiful dreams about traveling and helping people. Or maybe Amanda wasn't the only one; there was still so much Kitty didn't know.

With an effort, Kitty slid her hand off Kurt's arm. "Have you had other girlfriends—other than Jimaine?" When Kurt didn't reply, she added, "Why do I get the feeling you're going to give me another complicated answer?"

Kurt cleared his throat a bit, and said, "I suppose it depends on how you define girlfriend."

"You know—someone you hang out with. Go on dates with. And occasionally make out with."

"'Make out' with?" he echoed.

"You know what I mean."

"If you're asking me if I've kissed women other than Jimaine—then yes."

So much for Kurt's openness; perhaps her whole theory was wrong. "But—not girlfriends."

Kurt turned part of his body toward her. "You seem very hung up on that word."

"And you seem very evasive," she pointed out.

Kurt regarded her for another long moment before sending his gaze skyward. "I did not grow up under what you would consider 'normal' circumstances. We traveled a lot, people come and go…"

"Sounds perfect for one-night stands."

There was a measure of heat in his eyes and tone when he said, "I've never been intimate with someone I didn't care about."

"No need to get defensive," she returned, her own hackles rising.

"Your line of questioning implies otherwise."

Kitty chewed her lip, and tapped her thumb against her knee. Then she released her knees and legs, and leaned back. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Kurt assured her, following her down to the windshield. "Perhaps I was being defensive. I simply wouldn't want you to think…"

She let him trail off, guilty about pushing him. For the space of several heartbeats, they shared a not-quite-comfortable silence, both of them reclining against the windshield, and gazing up at the increasingly dim orange sky dappled with graying clouds.

At last, Kurt said, "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"The troubles I've had, the… _anxiety_ about my appearance… it hasn't usually come from women."

Kitty had observed that with her own Kurt. With the notable exception of herself, women meeting Kurt for the first time were more likely to be intrigued than afraid. "You can just say women like you."

"I feared you'd accuse me of youthful overconfidence," Kurt kidded. "And it's not all women, of course, but… some women."

Kitty watched the sun licking the roofs of the tallest buildings. "Nothing wrong with that."

"No, except… I'm not like most men."

Their eyes met, briefly, their faces close where they rested against the glass. Kurt's fur was getting darker in the diminishing light, while his eyes were getting brighter, which always made them look bigger, and that much more mysterious.

Kurt returned his golden gaze to the sky as he said, "I had a bad experience, once, after leaping a bit too quickly at an invitation."

Kitty felt her heart hitch. "She didn't… hurt you did she?"

"No, no…" Kurt insisted. "Nothing like that. But it's stayed with me, just the same. We were performing at a venue in a suburb outside Munich. I noticed her immediately. She was sitting in the front row, childless, and alone. I felt her watching me throughout the show, and played to her a little. She was attractive, though a bit older than me—perhaps in her mid-twenties. She waited for me after the show, which took some effort on her part. When I perform, we stage it so that my true nature isn't clear. Most of the audience assume I'm wearing a costume. Usually, I end the performance by teleporting back to my trailer. But this woman… When I left my trailer after the show, she was waiting for me. It was clear what she wanted. I wasn't with Jimaine at the time—it was one of our many 'breaks.' So when she invited me back to her hotel, I decided to go."

"What happened after that?" Part of her didn't want to know; despite Kurt's reassurance, she didn't like where the story was heading.

"It was okay for a while," he continued. "We talked, and flirted. Drank some wine, kissed… It was after that, that things got…"

The way his voice drifted off made him seem far away. So Kitty inched closer, close enough to bump her shoulder against his. Softly, she said, "You don't have to tell me. Not if it's too hard to talk about."

"I don't mind," Kurt replied. "But—I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"You won't—I promise." That wasn't quite true, but she wanted it to be.

"Things… progressed… but as they did, I began to feel… The way she looked at me, the way she touched me… I would tell her not to do certain things, but she would still…"

Kitty wanted to reach for his hand, but did her best to settle for the subtle friction of his shoulder against hers. "I thought you said she didn't hurt you."

Kurt's voice was flat as he said, "She didn't—I left."

"That doesn't mean it didn't hurt."

"Yes," he agreed, "But I didn't want you to think… There is a difference between what happened with this woman and… other things that could happen—that _do_ happen with other people. I went with her willingly, and left of my own accord."

"But it still bothers you."

"Only because I was foolish. I should have known, based on the way she sought me out, that she would be… how she was."

"You couldn't have known."

"I _should_ have known. Much as I should have known with Jardine."

With a surge of passion, Kitty finally seized his hand, and turned herself to face him. "It is _not_ your fault. Shitty people doing shitty things is never _anyone's_ fault but theirs."

Kurt appeared genuinely humbled, golden eyes dancing over her close face. "I appreciate that, although… that wasn't why I told you that story."

"Then why did you tell it?"

"So that you would know that I meant what I said—that I'm not in the habit of being intimate with anyone I don't care about. I can't afford to be and… I don't want to be."

Kitty considered whether that aligned with her view of Kurt. She'd always perceived him as something of a womanizer, though she couldn't recall many times—or, really, any times—in which he'd dedicated serious energy to flirting when the feeling wasn't mutual. He'd never flirted with her, after all. Not until now.

She kept her fingers threaded through his as she said, "I would have believed you anyway. Or at least—I hope I would have."

"I don't often talk about such things," said Kurt, thumb stroking her wrist. "But with you, it feels easy. It's almost as though…" His gaze faltered as he trailed off.

"What?"

"It sounds crazy."

"Try me."

Kurt's glowing eyes filled hers as he said, "I was going to say—I feel as though I've known you a long time. Much longer than a few days."

Kitty's reply was both honest and foolish. "That doesn't sound crazy."

Kurt's smile was tender and subtle as his fingers casually played with hers. The air was the coolest it had been all day, but the closeness of Kurt's body made everything warmer. A lock of wavy hair had spilled into his face, and Kitty was struck with a nearly overwhelming urge to tuck it back—to better enjoy his face, but also because of how nice it would feel to touch him. She already knew how slippery soft his hair would feel between her fingers, and the different, fuzzier softness of his fur along the hardness of his cheekbone. She already knew how his eyelids would flicker when she stroked her thumb around the tip of his pointed ear, something she'd always suspected he liked. And she definitely knew how inviting his lips would look loosely parted, anticipating her kiss. Because they were already doing that, a copy of her own.

Kitty slid her fingers out of Kurt's grip and turned away, trying to take a deep breath, and struggling a bit, reeling with the revelation of what she'd nearly done. This was _Kurt_ , and not even her Kurt. He didn't know her, didn't know all the things she was keeping from him that might make him hate her if he did. She had no more right to touch him now than when he'd been shivering and helpless in his bed at the motel; now as then, she'd be taking advantage of him for the sake of her own comfort, because she missed another man who wasn't him, but was, who she'd had so many chances to kiss, but hadn't. What was it about meeting Kurt here, in this time, that made everything so different? Or maybe, it wasn't so different. That possibility unsettled her most of all.

She felt Kurt shift next to her shoulder, and ease himself upright, bringing one knee up to his chest. That made breathing a little easier, so she did the same. Gradually, she came back to the coolness of the breeze on her cheeks, and a landscape that wasn't Kurt's face. And things felt relatively normal again—at least, as normal as they could feel, stuck in the past while actively screwing up the future because she'd realized at the worst possible time that she might want to kiss her best friend. She needed to get back to Westchester, and get Kurt back to Germany. But first, she needed to make good on her promises; no matter how much damage it did, she had to help Kurt get justice.

She broke the silence to say, "We still haven't decided how we're going to handle Jardine."

Kurt shot her a glance. If he was disappointed by her withdrawal, he was hiding it well. "I'm open to ideas."

"Locking him up wouldn't do any good," Kitty said. "You'd think he'd appreciate the karma, but guys like that never learn."

"What do you suggest as an alternative?"

"When people traffic in fear and violence, that's the only thing they understand."

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning we need to scare him."

"And how would you propose we do that?"

Kitty met his gaze and said, "By giving him what he fears most—you, hellbent on revenge."

Kurt leaned back, and rubbed his neck. "You realize I've spent my entire life trying very hard _not_ to scare people."

"Jardine is barely people," Kitty opined. "And sometimes, fear can be useful."

Kurt didn't seem convinced.

"You're a performer," Kitty cajoled. "That's all this will be—just you playing a role."

"I don't play demons," said Kurt, "There's a clause in my contract."

He sounded serious enough that Kitty wondered if that might actually be true. "Really?"

Kurt's face broke into a smile. "No."

Kitty frowned. "You're the worst."

Kurt's smile broadened, eyes glittering in the twilight along with a hint of fangs. Despite those sharp teeth and glowing eyes, not to mention his pointed ears, indigo fur, and the forked tail twitching against the hood in concert with his mirth, he appeared to be a very unlikely demon. Kitty had met demons before; none of them had been capable of looking as thoroughly huggable as Kurt.

"C'mon," Kitty urged, sliding her legs off the hood. "We'll discuss the specifics on the way."

"On the way where?" Kurt wondered, following her lead.

"Back to the motel, then back to the circus."

Kurt looked at her across the width of the car. "You want to raid the circus… tonight?"

"Unless you don't feel up to it."

"No, I'm fine…"

"Then let's not waste time," she declared, gathering up their trash and decisively hurling it into the bin. "I want this bastard to get what's coming to him."

Kurt didn't vocalize his agreement, but did flip up his hood and drop into the passenger's seat next to her. Once they were on their way back to the motel, Kitty felt the calmest she had in days. Soon, Jardine would get what was coming to him, and the hardest part of her journey would be over. Getting back to the future still seemed like a daunting challenge. But it was starting to feel considerably less daunting than continuing to spend time with Kurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Kitty and Kurt(s)—things just keep getting more complicated, don't they ;)
> 
> Canon things: the Nazi versions of Kurt and the rest of Excalibur were introduced back in Excalibur #9. It wasn't any fun for anyone. The Belasco-corrupted version of Kurt appeared way back in Uncanny X-Men #160 (and a few other times since then). This was also not any fun for anyone.
> 
> Next: The Raid!


	6. The Raid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kitty and Kurt raid the Jardine Circus...

**Chapter Six: The Raid**

Kurt was uncharacteristically quiet during the midnight drive from the Siesta Motel to the Jardine Circus. Kitty eyed him as she drove, but with the hood of his sweatshirt flipped up and his indigo fur lit only by the intermittent light of passing cars, his expression was frustratingly elusive, even for someone who knew him well; parts of his face kept disappearing in shadow beneath the glow of his golden eyes, and his white teeth were safely contained behind his downturned blue lips. His body language didn't help. He appeared calm, but determinedly so, slouched low in his seat with one bare foot on the dash, and his hands buried in his sweatshirt pockets. Kitty couldn't see his tail, but imagined it twitching idly where it dangled over the edge of the seat, as mysterious as the rest of him. They were both dressed in head-to-toe black, and all their recently acquired belongings were stowed in the trunk; whatever happened, they wouldn't be returning to the Siesta.

For an excuse to break the silence, Kitty said, "We should be there soon."

Kurt nodded absently, studying what passed for scenery in the passenger's side window. Not for the first time, Kitty wondered how things looked through his eyes. She knew he had enhanced vision, in the day and especially at night. But knowing was different from understanding.

"What do you see?" she asked.

Kurt swiveled to face her. "Hm?"

"Out the window. What do you see?"

Kurt blinked. "Honestly, I wasn't really looking."

"Oh." Kitty chewed her lip, fingers tapping the wheel. If he'd been her Kurt, she probably would have dropped it. But this Kurt was different; if she asked, he might actually answer. "Well, then—what were you thinking about?"

He paused long enough to take a breath, then said, "A lot of things... Mostly, I was trying to remember."

"Anything in particular?"

"I was trying to remember being there. Where you found me."

Kitty searched for his eyes, but he was looking at the floor, or at least, looking toward it. She suspected he wasn't really seeing the interior of the car—that his mind was focused on a very different landscape.

"You told me before that you don't remember much," she said.

"I don't. That is—nothing I can trust. Most of it is hazy—like a dream that's just out of reach."

"Maybe that's for the best."

"Ja," he agreed, without conviction. "Perhaps."

Kitty tightened her hands on the wheel, fighting a desire to reach for his hand or shoulder, any warm, soft body part to reassure him, and herself. But she felt strange about touching him after the way she'd almost touched him a few hours before. For hours, Kitty had been doing her best not to think about how very close she'd come to kissing this Kurt who wasn't Kurt, but her control over her thoughts was tenuous at best. Just like she'd felt increasingly tenuous reclining on the hood of the car, without Kurt to hold her…

"You'll feel better after we do this," she stated, forcing confidence into her voice.

Kurt raised his golden eyes to her hazel ones. "Hopefully, we both will."

"I'm fine," she insisted, refocusing on the road.

"You've been uncharacteristically quiet since we left the motel," Kurt pointed out.

That was true. Kitty had blamed the silence on him, but it took two to kill a conversation.

"It must have been hard," he continued. "To see a fellow mutant, treated that way."

She thought, but didn't say, _you have no idea_ …

"Yeah," she conceded. "It was hard. But… it's over now."

"Unless something goes wrong tonight…"

Kitty met his gaze and said, "I won't let anything happen to you, Kurt. I promise."

"It's not me I'm worried about."

Kitty blinked her gaze back to the highway. Of course he would be worried about her. Just like her Kurt must be worried, several states and six years away.

"There's nothing to worry about," she said.

"Why is that?"

"Because I won't let anything happen to me, either."

From the corner of her eye, she could see Kurt fighting a smile. "Okay, Katzchen."

Kitty was sure she was still gripping the wheel, but her hands were suddenly numb. "Wh-what did you just call me?"

"Just a silly joke," Kurt said quickly.

"I don't—"

"Katzchen is a literal translation of your name," he explained. "Sort of. But not quite."

"It means kitten."

"Ja. I'm sorry—I won't say it again."

For several heartbeats, Kitty let the opposing headlights wash over her. She should have been coming up with the right thing to say. But all she could think of were wrong things. Eventually, she said one of them. "You can, if you… I don't mind."

Part of Kurt's smile broke through. "Good to know."

Kitty wasn't sure whether to drive faster or slower, so she settled on obeying the speed limit as they fell back into a not-quite-comfortable silence. Sometime later, they arrived at the junction that led to the circus, marked by a large colorful sign featuring a broadly smiling cartoon version of the man Kitty had met at the edge of Kurt's cage.

"Someone took some artistic license," Kurt observed.

"No kidding…" Kitty mumbled.

"You met Jardine?"

"I didn't know it was him at the time," Kitty replied, "but yeah. When I first saw you there, I tried to talk to you. He… made me stop."

"I don't remember that."

"You were pretty out of it."

"Did you know I was a mutant?"

"Not for sure, but… I suspected."

"You never told me what brought you to the circus in the first place…"

Luckily, the business at hand gave her an excuse to evade the question. They were still a mile out, but Kurt should be able to take them the rest of the way—a stealthier option than walking through the front gate, which she presumed would be better guarded than it had been during her first nocturnal visit. Kitty turned off the lights, did a U-turn to position the car for their getaway, and shut off the engine.

When she turned to Kurt, now sitting upright in his seat, the question on his face was obvious, even in the dark. "Why are we stopping here?"

"Because you're gonna take us in."

"Um…"

"Using your powers," she said, confused by the need to remind him. "Of teleportation."

"Did you miss the part where I said I can only go short distances?"

"This is only a mile."

"You consider that a short distance?"

Kitty flexed her jaw against the curse she wanted to hiss, realizing that in all their planning, she'd somehow forgotten to investigate whether nineteen-year-old Kurt had the same teleportation range as twenty-six-year-old Kurt. She knew he'd gotten more powerful over the years, but when she'd met him, he'd been more than capable of teleporting a mile with a passenger. Yet that would have been after a year of X-Men missions and Danger Room training.

"Then I guess we'll have to get closer," she stated, placing her hands back on the wheel.

"There's also…" Kurt's golden gaze faltered.

"What now?"

"Were you expecting me to take you in?"

"Is that a problem?"

"I _can_ teleport with passengers, but the results are sometimes… messy."

"Messy… how?"

"My passengers become ill, and I feel as though I've been kicked in the stomach. Or worse."

Kitty looked away, not wanting Kurt to think she was angry at him. Because she wasn't; she was furious, but the target of her fury was herself. "Why didn't you tell me any of this before now?"

"I didn't realize this was how you planned to get in," he replied.

"Because I assumed…" She forced down a swallow, and amended, "I'm sorry. It's my fault. I should have run it by you."

After a moment of apologetic silence, Kurt asked, "Did you have a Plan B?"

"Yes," she declared, starting the engine. "It's the reverse of Plan A."

"Meaning…?"

"We go in hot. And instead of finishing with Jardine, we start with him."

"What does 'going in hot' involve?"

"What it sounds like. It also includes me calling the cops—the more chaos, the better. But that means we may have to leave in a hurry."

"I can handle it, if necessary."

Kitty didn't like the sound of that. "What happens if you can't?"

"I won't let anything happen to you."

She met his echo of her words with an echo of his. "It's not me I'm worried about."

"I can handle it," Kurt repeated. "I promise."

Kitty told herself she shouldn't trust him. She didn't know him—didn't know his powers or their limits. But none of her special skills included the ability to distrust a promise made in Kurt's voice.

Two quick 911 calls later—one from her phone, and one from Kurt's, both reporting an armed robbery—they were back on the road, headlights off, creeping up to the circus entrance. Kitty did another U-turn some distance from the gate, and parked the car in the grass beside the road.

"Looks like they've increased security," she observed. There were two guards at the gate, about 800 yards away. It was impossible to tell if they were armed, but one was already shining a flashlight in their direction and taking a few tentative steps toward the road.

"How should we handle it?" Kurt asked. He was all business now—like he'd flipped a switch into another mode of being. Kitty was used to that, but it still surprised her, coming from this version of Kurt. If everything went according to plan, in a few months, he'd be an X-Man. And a year after that, he'd be the man she'd met as a foolish and frightened thirteen-year-old, who'd seemed so at home in a world constantly ricocheting between terror and wonder.

"You go first," she replied. "Attack from behind. Start with the one on the right. I'll follow, and handle the one on the left. Use the hold I showed you."

Kurt nodded his agreement. "Are you ready?"

"I'll be right behind you."

Kitty waited for Kurt's BAMF and blast of brimstone and then wrenched open her door and began a vigorous run toward their target, intangible and an inch above the gravel. Well in advance of her arrival at the gate, Kurt had his charge in a choke hold, wrapped around his back with one leg pinning his thigh and his forearm wedged under his throat. As the other guard turned to help his partner, Kitty jumped him, using a modified hold to wrench him back, and then knock him sideways against the gate post; before he could cry out, he crumpled to the ground at her feet. Kurt was having more trouble; his guard was largely incapacitated but decidedly conscious, growling and sputtering as he pawed for the Glock tucked into the waist of his jeans. Kitty took care of him the old-fashioned way, lining up a jab that hit him square across the bridge of the nose. He collapsed in Kurt's arms, but Kurt kept him from falling, catching his limp body and carefully laying it the grass.

Kitty would have liked to tie up the guards, but they didn't have time; if they were lucky, they'd have twenty minutes before the police arrived, and they'd need all of them to find Jardine, deliver their message, and get out in one piece. As a compromise, she helped Kurt move the guards into the shadows and confiscated their weapons, dropping both guns into the bushes where they were unlikely to be found anytime soon.

She beckoned Kurt behind the ticket booth, then said, in a low voice, "You need to squeeze harder if you want to make that hold work."

"I didn't want to hurt him," Kurt whispered back, settling into the type of crouch that was only comfortable for him.

"If it makes you feel better," she said, "a punch typically hurts more than a choke hold the next day."

"You're speaking from experience?"

Instead of answering him, Kitty scanned the horizon. So far, the dark landscape showed no additional signs of life. At least, none she could see.

She nudged Kurt and asked, "You see anything I don't?"

"There are two more guards by the corner of the third wagon on the right, and another man walking this way. But—he just turned, and went behind one of the game booths."

Kitty stared at him. "You can see all that?"

Kurt's white teeth flashed in the dark. "I'm more than a pretty face."

She couldn't argue with that. "Okay, then—let's follow the route we planned, but move quickly. If we run into any resistance, you know what to do."

"Squeeze harder?"

"Good enough. C'mon."

Kitty took the lead. As they wove their way through the grounds, they kept close to each wagon and booth, but gave a wide berth to the animal cages, not wanting to be given away by growls or screeches. Kitty longed to throw open every cage and let the miserable beasts run free, or perhaps turn on their master; there was something very satisfying about the idea of feeding Jardine to the half-starved tiger. But the better part of her knew the animals deserved better; they needed sanctuary, not an invitation to mayhem.

They weren't sure precisely where they were heading; Kurt had an idea of where he thought Jardine's trailer might be, and Kitty had offered her own guess, based on the layout and her observation of the site four days before. In any case, the grounds weren't expansive; they'd find the man they were looking for, one way or another.

For a while, things were easy. There were a few guards—actual ones, with flashlights, batons, and guns—and a few other employees who'd clearly been told to keep an eye out. But both types of obstacles were easily avoided by a mutant who could walk on air and disappear like a ninja, and another who could literally blend into shadows.

Before long, they'd nearly traversed the site, putting them within view of a larger, newer collection of trailers, one or more of which presumably belonged to Jardine. Things were going so smoothly, Kitty almost forgot Kurt's night vision was significantly better than hers. She was oblivious to the danger when his hand shot forward and seized her arm, pulling her into his body before spinning them both around the corner of a large wooden billboard.

There wasn't time to go far; Kitty could hear the voices and footsteps now, close and getting closer. Kurt held her tight against his chest as he shielded her with his body, cloaking her in the shadows that cloaked his fur. It wasn't guards, or vigilant employees; it sounded like a couple of heavy-set men, taking the air after a few (or a few too many) nighttime beverages.

The male voices and shuffling footsteps kept coming, until they were six feet away, and then three, and then close enough to touch. One man even leaned against the opposite side of the billboard as he laughed and fumbled for a lighter; Kitty could feel the wood shift with his weight, just around the corner. Yet nothing felt louder than the thud of Kurt's heart beating against her own, or as visceral as the friction of his fur against his clothes each time his lungs filled and emptied against hers, something she'd felt before, but somehow never felt. One of his hands was cupping the back of her neck, and his tail was wrapped around her thigh, tight, still, and sure. His cheek was brushing hers and she could feel his warm breath on her ear.

In the tense seconds that followed, Kitty found herself flashing back to her final seconds lying next to Kurt on the hood of the car, just before that, too, had become tense. Where would they be if she'd followed her instincts, and pressed her lips to his? Would they still be hiding behind a billboard in the dark, waiting to put the fear of god into a very bad man who'd probably never learn, or would they be back at the motel, doing something considerably different…? The thought did something giddy to her stomach that she tried to chalk up to adrenaline, or at least channel into it; she didn't have time for such thoughts, especially not here, and especially not now.

Then, at last, it was over. The men ambled back into the night, and Kurt stepped away from her body. Kitty shivered as his tail slipped free, wondering why she'd never marveled at that, before realizing it was actually new. Kurt's tail had hugged her before, with affection, and in moments of action. But never her thigh, and never like that—thoughtless and needful, like all of him wanted to hold all of her, and didn't see a reason to hide it.

In that moment, as Kurt's tail swung back to his ankles and his hands trailed down her arms, Kitty was struck with a sudden, desperate urge to call off the raid. Jardine didn't matter. The circus didn't matter, or anything that had happened there. All that mattered was them—her, and Kurt, safe, alive, and together, as they'd been for so long, and as they should always be, whatever the day, hour, or year. She'd fallen out of his grip into his arms, and she didn't want to leave, not until she understood how being somewhere so wrong could feel so skin and soul shiveringly right.

"Kurt, I—"

"They must have painted it before I got here."

Kitty blinked, and followed his golden gaze up, to the billboard directly in front of them. Despite the dim light, it was easy to recognize it as an advertisement for the freak show. Kitty remembered the painting of a mermaid described as "Azalea, The Astounding Amphibious Woman," along with other freak show staples, like the Tattooed Man and the Bearded Woman. There was also an ad for Kurt. The painting of "The Amazing Nightcrawler" was similar to the one adorning the rear wall of Kurt's cage; it depicted a snarling, demonic version of Kurt in a low crouch, fangs salivating as his clawed hand swiped forward, tail forming a menacing scythe curve behind his dramatically arched spine.

Kitty reached for Kurt's hand, and whispered, "Artistic license is one thing. But that's not even the right color."

She couldn't properly see Kurt's face in the dark, but she could certainly feel his hand, fingers curling around hers, and squeezing back. A few heartbeats later, they returned to business, making their way back to the edge of the path and continuing in the opposite direction of the men they'd evaded.

When they reached the first of the newer trailers, they ducked into the shadows to confer.

"Got a guess about which one belongs to Jardine?" Kitty asked.

Kurt shook his head. "Unfortunately not."

"Then we'll have to do some reconnaissance."

"I can—"

Kitty quieted him by pressing a finger to her lips. Then she stood, and made herself lighter than air. She drifted carefully upwards until she reached the bottom edge of the closest window, and peered inside. A moment later, she scrunched her eyes shut and dropped a bit too quickly to the ground. She'd seen a lot of very engaged flesh, and was reasonably sure none of it belonged to Jardine.

"What did you—"

"Don't ask. C'mon—let's check the next one."

They crept through the shadows to the next trailer, where Kitty prepared to repeat her spying trick. This time, though, Kurt pressed a finger to his lips, and took the lead, crawling nimbly up the side of the wall. After a moment, he let go, and landed weightlessly next to her, bare feet silent in the grass.

"Anything interesting?" Kitty asked.

"I'm not sure, but—I think it's worth investigating. The main room is empty."

"Okay," Kitty agreed. "I'll take us in. If it's not the right trailer—"

"I'll get us out."

"Only as a last resort." She met his eyes in the dark, knowing he'd be able to see hers almost as clearly as she could see his. He nodded, and offered his hand.

Together, they phased inside, through the insulated aluminum wall and the forest green couch on the other side of it before stepping into empty space. It was a simple but nicely appointed room, though Kitty didn't think it looked like Jardine's. There were too many feminine features, including flowers on a dresser equipped with a substantial vanity, and a Japanese-themed changing screen with a cherry red slip draped over it. Kitty was just about to draw Kurt back the way they came when the door on the other side of the room creaked open, admitting the trailer's presumed tenant.

It definitely wasn't Jardine. Judging by the flowing red hair spilling over her gold-spangled bra and especially the equally glittering green fish tale that made up her lower half, it was Azalea, the Astounding Amphibious Woman.

She shuffled awkwardly into the room, propelled by the fins at the tip of her tail. But when she saw them, she froze. Kitty and Kurt did the same, and for a long moment, they all stood staring at each other, equally disbelieving.

Kurt was the first to speak. "Um, hello there, you must be—"

"You can talk?" Azaela interrupted, green eyes widening.

"In three languages," Kurt assured her, lips curving into one of his most charming smiles.

"He told us you couldn't talk," the mermaid intoned.

"Pardon me for saying so," said Kurt, "but I believe the proprietor of this circus may occasionally struggle with truthfulness."

Azalea finally shook herself out of her stupor, and moved toward a nearby chair. She dropped into it, and said, "He's not the only one." Kitty and Kurt watched in silence as she located a hidden zipper at the top of her tail, tugged, and peeled it off, revealing a pair of slim, bare legs as pale as the rest of her. "But I'm not a total cheat." She tossed her hair back, exposing a row of gills along the side of her neck. With a wry smile, she quipped, "Pretty weird, right?"

Kurt closed some of the distance between them, his own very real tail twitching behind his ankles. "That's not the word I would use."

Azalea visibly blushed, shifting coquettishly in her chair. Not that she needed to show off her curves; she was naked besides a pair of plain black shorts and her spangled bra. She reached for a silky purple robe as she said, "I can see why Jardine wanted to keep you quiet."

Feeling increasingly left out of the conversation, Kitty stepped to Kurt's side, and said, firmly, "Jardine also wanted to keep him quiet because he was here against his will."

"Yeah, I see that now." Azalea tied her robe closed, and dropped her eyes to her hands. "And… I should have seen it before."

"You're not a prisoner here?" Kurt inquired.

"No," Azalea replied. "Jardine pays me. Not well, but… I had to leave my old job when they found out I was… Well, when they found out about the whole fish lady thing. I might have toughed it out, but I was pregnant at the time, and the father… Let's just say he's not in the picture."

Kitty exchanged a look with Kurt before he asked, "You have a child?"

Azalea didn't reply, at least, not directly. Instead, she cast her gaze toward the opposite corner of the room, and said, "It's okay, Michael—you can come out."

A small boy appeared from behind a large trunk and ran past Kitty and Kurt, landing in an embrace at his mother's side. He looked like any other cute and clumsy five-year-old boy, except for his eyes, which were yellow-tinged and slitted, similar to those of a cat. Like his mother, Michael seemed to be a mutant.

"He should be in bed,” said Azalea. "But he has good hearing, and always tries to wait up when I’m working on a new routine. Michael, I want you to meet—"

"You're Nightcrawler," said Michael, staring up at Kurt.

"Yes," Kurt confirmed, flashing a fang-tipped smile. "But I prefer Kurt."

"I like your tail," said the boy, and indeed, his eyes seemed to be following it, entranced by its easy, unconscious rhythm.

"Thank you," Kurt replied. "So do I."

Kitty glanced at her watch. They'd already been at the circus for fifteen minutes; as usual, they were running out of time. "I hate to break this up, but…"

For what seemed like the first time, Azalea looked at Kitty. But her question was posed to Kurt. "Who is she?"

"She is… a friend," said Kurt. "A friend who understands being different."

That appeared to mollify Azalea somewhat. "You helped him escape, didn't you?"

"And you didn't," Kitty observed. She didn't want to be angry at an obviously devoted mother making difficult choices on behalf of her son, but couldn't quite stop herself; to her, no set of circumstances could excuse standing idly by while someone suffered the way Kurt had.

Azalea hugged Michael tighter against her side. "If I'd known…" She swallowed, then said, in a smaller voice, "I didn't want to know."

Kitty was too busy grinding her teeth to reply, so Kurt stepped in, with his usual grace. "You did what you felt you had to, to protect your family. There is no higher purpose."

Azalea blushed again, in a different way. "My name's not Azalea, by the way. It's Sally."

Kurt stepped forward, and extended his hand while performing a half bow, much as he'd done when greeting Kitty two days before. "A name which is all the more lovely for being true."

The former Azalea accepted Kurt's hand with another wide-eyed expression, and blinked when he gently kissed the back of her own. As he released her, her fingers wonderingly caressed his fur. "You're so… soft."

The right side of Kurt's mouth playfully twitched. "I know."

Deciding she'd seen enough, Kitty's loudly cleared her throat behind Kurt's shoulder.

"Unfortunately, my dear lady," said Kurt, backing up to rejoin Kitty, "we are running short on time. We're looking for Jardine."

Sally's green eyes flashed between Kurt and Kitty. "What are going to do?" After a moment, she realized, "You're going to get this place shut down, aren't you?"

"That's the general idea," Kitty confirmed.

"I'm terribly sorry, Sally," said Kurt. "But given what was done to me, and what Jardine told you about it… there may be others."

"I know," Sally agreed, right hand slowly rubbing Michael's back. "It wasn't so bad at first. We haven't got much, but it's home, you know? Lately, though… I've seen the way he looks at Michael. I knew we'd have to leave. I just thought I could put it off a little longer."

"Do you have somewhere you can go?" Kitty asked.

Sally nodded. "My sister lives near Boca Raton. I can stay with her for a while, until we figure something out."

"I'm so sorry," Kurt repeated, sounding like he truly meant it. Knowing Kurt, he probably did.

"If it's anyone's fault," said Sally. "It's mine. I should have left a long time ago."

Kurt met Sally's gaze, and said, "It's never too late to do the right thing."

Sally's own gaze faltered, and then sought Kitty's. "Is he always this nice?"

Kitty managed a close-lipped smile that was more for Kurt than Sally. "In my experience—yeah. But we seriously need to…"

"If you have the means," said Kurt, "perhaps you should leave before the police arrive."

Sally shook her head. "No, I'll stay. I want to speak up. I've seen things around here that'll probably interest them."

Kurt began, "Are you—"

"It's the least I can do," Sally insisted. She ruffled Michael's hair as she said, "It's also the right thing to do."

"If you need help down the road," said Kitty, "there's a school in New York, that caters to students with… gifts. It's called Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. I don't know if they have a website, but…"

"Thanks," said Sally. "I appreciate that. But—you'd better get going. Jardine's in the large trailer at end. Probably drunk, or counting his money. Or both."

"Danke, Frauline Sally," said Kurt. "Perhaps we shall meet again, under better circumstances."

Sally's lips formed a smile, but her tone was melancholy. "I'd like that."

Kurt dropped to a crouch to say, "And goodbye, Michael. You will be brave for your mother, yes?"

The boy nodded eagerly, fully prepared to do whatever The Amazing Nightcrawler told him.

As Kurt straightened, Sally said, "Oh, and one more thing…" She hurried across the room and retrieved a canvas-colored duffle bag from behind the changing screen, which she subsequently handed to Kurt. "It's your things," Sally explained. "Jardine was going to get rid of them. I thought there might be something useful, but all your pants have holes in them, and the books are in German."

Kurt blinked appreciatively at the bag before slinging it over his shoulder. "Thank you so much, Sally. This means a great deal to me."

"You better go," Sally urged. "And—give him one from me, huh?"

"You have my word," Kurt promised.

Kitty didn't bother with a proper goodbye, though she did favor Michael with a smile, fervently hoping he found his way, tonight, and years from tonight. Mutations were unpredictable; Michael's unusual eyes may be the extent of his mutation, or the beginning of something else that might be harder to hide.

"We're gonna walk through the wall now," Kitty told Michael. "Promise not to be scared?"

Michael's yellow eyes seemed to grow two sizes. He nodded once, seriously.

Despite everything, Kitty almost laughed as she took Kurt's hand, and phased them out of the trailer the same way they'd come in. She didn't look back at Sally and Michael, but neither of them screamed, which she chose to take as a good sign.

Finally, they found themselves in the shadows outside Jardine's trailer. Kitty checked the window to confirm, and sure enough, there he was, wearing the same not-especially-white undershirt and sporting the same messy gray beard. He was sitting behind a large wooden desk sorting through stacks of bills and change in between generous swallows from a not-very-clean glass sitting next to a half-empty 40 of Jack Daniels.

She sank back to Kurt's side, and said, "It's him all right."

"So I guess this is it," Kurt surmised, golden eyes flickering.

"Are you ready?"

"No," he replied. "But—let's do it anyway." His white teeth flashed as he said it, which Kitty knew was forced, but was still grateful to see. She trusted this Kurt. But she had been concerned about how he'd handle confronting Jardine—whether he'd break down or fly into a rage, or even freeze up, unable to do what needed to be done. Forcing a smile meant he was concerned, too. Which meant he'd be fine; healthy doubt was safer than overconfidence.

Kitty said, "Like we planned, okay? I'll get the lights and you—"

"I remember," Kurt assured her. "On three?"

Kitty counted it down, and then they went. Kurt BAMF'ed while she slipped through the wall, shorting the lights on her way. It was nearly pitch black inside the trailer when Kitty planted her feet on floor. The purple clouds accompanying Kurt's two quick teleports were vivid in the dark, but not as vivid as Kurt's eyes when he materialized on the back of Jardine's chair and promptly whipped his tail around his neck. Jardine barely had time to cry out before Kurt contracted his tail, and left him struggling for breath.

"Hello Monsieur Jardine," Kurt purred, lips pressed close to the bigoted circus owner's ear. "Did you miss me?"

"Y-you!" Jardine managed to gasp.

"Yes," Kurt confirmed. "The demon you tried to tame."

Jardine's voice was a scratchy growl as he said, "I didn't _try_ , boy. What I want—I get."

"Present circumstances excepted," Kurt reminded him.

Jardine expelled a sound Kitty supposed was meant to be a laugh. "Oh? Seems like I wanted you back, and here you are."

"Here," Kurt agreed. "But no longer helpless." He curled a hand over Jardine's shoulder as he said it, deliberately dropping one finger, then the other.

"If you say so," Jardine growled. "I think you're back because deep down, you know you belong here. In the swamp. In the filth. Like the monster you are."

"I dare say it takes one to know one, Monsieur Jardine."

"What do you want, anyway?" Jardine wondered. "If it's money—"

"Isn't it obvious?" Kurt interrupted. "I want you, Jardine."

"Well, you got me—what're you gonna do?"

In a silky-smooth voice, Kurt replied, "I'm going to make sure you never make anyone else suffer as I did."

"You call that suffering?" Jardine scoffed, shifting his prodigious weight in his chair. "I gave you free room and board and made you famous. Sounds like a pretty good deal to me."

Kitty had been watching from the shadows—watching, grinding her teeth, and sinking her fingernails into her palms. When her nails drew blood, she decided she'd heard enough.

She stalked toward Jardine's desk as she hissed, "You locked him in a _cage_. Like an _animal_."

As she became visible in the dim light from the window, Jardine's face twisted into a mocking grin. "Tell me this isn't the cavalry…"

Kurt warned, "You'd be wise not to provoke her, Jardine."

But Jardine wasn't listening. "I remember you. You were the one who wanted to pet the merchandise, right? Guess you made your own special arrangement."

With a surge of passion, Kitty lunged forward, and seized Jardine's undershirt.

The circus owner merely smiled, exposing his yellowed teeth. "Heh. You caught a firecracker here, freak. I'll give you that."

"We're shutting you down," Kitty growled. "By the end of the week, you'll be out of business. By the end of the month, you'll be broke. And by the end of the year, you'll be broken."

Jardine licked his cracked lips, and said, "And you'll still be protecting a monster who, if he had any sense, would have stayed where I put him—in a pool of his own filth, drooling and groveling for scraps a freak like him should feel lucky to get. He'll drag you down with him, y'know. 'Til you’re just as filthy as he is."

Jardine's picture of Kurt's suffering was so revolting and intimate, it sent Kitty tumbling back to that awful moment, when she'd first realized the pathetic creature lolling in the straw was, in fact, her best friend. And then, suddenly, she stopped being able to think. There was only the grief and rage of that moment, overtaking her like a wave of fire. Her chest burned, and then her cheeks did, and finally her hands, demanding the only thing that could quench them.

Kitty vaulted over the desk with such intent, Kurt immediately backed off. He started to say something, but Kitty wasn't listening. She was too busy seizing generous portions of Jardine's clothes and body and hurling him face-first across the desk, sending him crashing through loose bills, coins, and the bottle of whiskey, which shattered ahead of the sack-like thud of Jardine's body hitting the ground. He was mid-groan when Kitty jumped him again, hauling him upright to throw him back against the wall. She held his collar with her left hand while her intangible right hand slipped through his skin, bones, and flesh, to settle around his thudding heart.

Jardine's red-rimmed eyes gaped as he ducked his chin to confirm the hand in his chest. He made a small, futile effort to struggle free, but stopped when Kitty's fingers flexed, and ever-so-gently squeezed. Kitty wasn't sure what that felt like, her intangible fingers squeezing a heart made intangible in her hand. But Jardine's reaction suggested it didn't feel good. When he raised his eyes to hers, his face was a spattered canvas of white and green, like he was waging a pitched battle between fainting and vomiting. It was the expression of someone confronting a demon—one he was actually scared of.

"Don't move," Kitty advised. "It takes a lot of concentration to keep this up. And if I stop—so does your heart."

"W-what do you want?" It was strikingly different from the first time he'd asked the question. Then, Kurt's tail had been choking him; now, his fear was. There was a new smell, too, one Kitty had smelled before; Jardine had soiled himself.

"I want the same thing Nightcrawler wants," Kitty replied coolly. "For you to release anyone being held here against their will, pay out your employees, release your animals to a shelter, close your gates, and never open again, here, or anywhere else."

"You want to ruin me."

Kitty's lips curled up as she said, "I want to do more than that."

"And if I don't do it?" Jardine wondered.

Kitty knew exactly how to answer that question. "I'll end you. Permanently. Now, if you don't agree. Tomorrow, if this place is still open. Or maybe next week, or next month. I'm a ghost, Jardine. You can't touch me, and I can follow you anywhere. Wherever you go, I'll go. Making sure you stay ruined."

In the silence that followed, Jardine's face worked through a series of emotions—rage, revulsion, grief, and, finally, resignation, realizing he'd been outplayed.

"Fine," he spat. "I'll do it."

Kitty snorted. "What's that worth? The word of a scumbag coward?"

"What's—"

Kitty pressed her face close to Jardine's, enough to taste his foul breath on her lips. "I don't believe you."

She didn't notice Kurt until he spoke, his voice an insistent whisper near her shoulder. "Kitty…"

But Kurt's voice barely registered. Kitty's whole world was Jardine's twisted face and the slow lurch of his heart, his life in her hands. "Make me believe you."

"I promise," Jardine muttered. The phrase sounded dirty, like it had moldered in his throat from under-use.

"No." Kitty shook her head, nostrils flaring as she adjusted her intangible grip. "Not good enough."

Just as she began to squeeze, she felt it—a familiar hand on her still-solid back, fingers curling over her shoulder. But it was the familiar voice that truly stopped her, saying a special name only one person on Earth had ever called her. " _Katzchen_."

Kitty inhaled a sharp breath, and carefully retrieved her hand, leaving Jardine's heart safely beating inside his chest. As she stepped away from the circus owner's body, Kurt replaced her, golden eyes searing Jardine's damp ones.

"You may not fear me, Monsieur Jardine," said Kurt. "But you should fear her."

Whatever rejoinder Jardine might have offered was cut off by the distant but definite echo of sirens. The police had arrived; that meant it was long-past time to go.

Kitty marched over to Jardine's desk, picked up a wad of cash, and declared, "I'm keeping this. Unless you've got any objections?"

Jardine didn't reply. He merely stood there, glaring, and slightly trembling, his beefy hand rubbing his neck and chest. Kitty reached for Kurt's hand, and after a final glance back at Jardine, he followed her, letting her lead him back through the wall. Outside the trailer, Kurt slung his recovered duffle bag over his shoulder, and asked, "What now?"

"We need to get back to the car," said Kitty, realizing she was stating the obvious. For once, she wasn't quite sure what to do. She'd been worried about Kurt confronting Jardine, but she was the one who wasn't thinking clearly; she could still feel his heart in her hand, a sickening warm bellows that would have been so easy to pop. Each second she hesitated, the sirens got louder. She could see flashing lights in the distance, now, too; the police had arrived at the entrance to the circus. Shouting voices quickly followed, as the guards and the circus's other denizens were roused by the commotion. Getting across the grounds would be difficult with so many people running around. But they had to try.

"Stick to the shadows," she told Kurt. "If we're careful, we can still make it."

She saw Kurt nod, though she couldn't tell if he seemed convinced. In any case, there was little point in remaining where they were. Kitty stood, and led the way.

They didn't get far; less than halfway across the grounds, they were met by two police motorcycles, hurrying down the dirt path. The bikes skidded to a stop barely a hundred feet from the horse racing game Kitty and Kurt were hiding behind, effectively blocking their path to the parking lot.

"I can take us," said Kurt.

"No," Kitty insisted. "There's gotta be another way. We can double back—circle around." But even as she said it, the odds became bleaker. The sirens and strobing lights seemed to be coming from every side, and the cops were off their bikes, brandishing weapons and powerful flashlights and ordering whoever they found to get down on the ground. It was only a matter of time before the lights and guns flashed their way.

"Do you trust me?"

Kitty looked at the man who both was and wasn't her best friend, told herself to lie, and instead told the truth. "Yes."

When Kurt reached for her, she stepped gratefully into his arms, the first time she'd let herself properly hug this younger version of him. It felt familiar and new, but most of all, it felt nice—to touch him, and hold him, and show him how much she cared. Kurt hugged her back, hands gripping her shoulder blades. Then, he teleported.

An imperceptible instant later, Kitty was blinking through a cloud of brimstone at the passenger's side door of the Neon. They were a few feet away from the car and a generous distance away from the police, whose cars were parked at the circus gates.

"You did it, Kurt! You—"

Kurt tried to smile a moment before his eyes rolled back while the rest of him went liquid in her arms. Kitty hissed an expletive as she adjusted her grip to catch him, his chest sliding down hers as his head fell to the side. She didn't have time to worry about his comfort as she wrenched open the back door and roughly heaved his duffle bag and unconscious body into the backseat. Seconds later, she was behind the wheel, putting as much distance as possible between them and the flashing lights. She caught some gesticulations in her rear view; they'd clearly been seen, and suspected of being involved in the chaotic scene. But before anyone could decide to go after them, the circus was a speck in the mirror.

Kitty continued watching the mirrors until they merged onto the interstate. Only when she was sure no marked or unmarked cars were following them did she finally allow herself to adjust the mirror to look at Kurt, still lying where she'd dropped him. She could see his chest moving under his sweatshirt. Other than that, he might have been dead. The top half of his body was stretched across the seat while his tangled legs spilled off it. His neck was bent at an awkward angle and his arms were far too heavy; one arm was draped across his midsection and the other was stretched toward the front of the car.

Returning her eyes to streaming lights of the highway, Kitty swallowed, and breathed. Then she resumed eyeing the mirror, focusing this time on the hand stretched toward her, two thick fingers curled open. It was her fault. She should have known he wasn't ready for the raid. He'd been half-dead two days ago, and even mutants didn't heal that fast, not unless they were Wolverine, and Kurt definitely wasn't. Kurt was tough, but he wasn't invincible. Kitty had faced that reality many times, every one of which haunted her more than she'd ever told Kurt, or even properly admitted to herself. And this Kurt wasn't even a superhero. He was just a young trapeze artist with beautiful dreams who put entirely too much trust in too many people, and was lucky it hadn't already killed him.

Kitty swung her arm back and seized Kurt's hand, bringing it the edge of the armrest between the front seats.

"It's okay, Kurt," she said, clutching his limp fingers in her own strong ones. "I'm here now, and it's gonna be okay."

Kurt couldn't hear her, but she said it a few more times anyway, comforted by the sound of the words.

She held on until her arm hurt, and longer, until a nerve began to twitch and fire in her back. Finally, she let go, gently lowering Kurt's hand to the floor. When she placed both hands back on the wheel, she felt the loss of his warmth, but didn't allow herself to reach for him a second time. Because as usual, they didn't have time. Kitty didn't want to stop until there were several states between them and Florida, and then she needed to find a way home, back to the future where Kurt was her friend and could never be anything more, because he'd never flirted with her or wanted to, and she'd never known she wanted him to. Not until the sun had caught in the sweaty fur and fang-tipped smile of his younger self, the one who was cocky and reckless and honest and irrepressible—just a young, beautiful trapeze artist who shouldn't have trusted her, because she'd almost gotten him killed.

Kitty flexed and tightened her hands on the wheel, and locked her gaze on the black highway in front of her. It was going to be another long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do Kitty's powers work like this (i.e. where she can selectively solidify parts of her body)? Sometimes! Sometimes not! If Marvel writers can't decide, why put that pressure on myself? ;) Also: this was probably a rather fast and comprehensive police response. Let's just assume Kitty's 911 calls were extremely convincing, hm?
> 
> Sorry for the delay between updates. Life got in the way, but also, this chapter was a pain to write; plot and action are so much harder than long emotional conversations! Thankfully, the next chapter should be more of the latter :) We'll also finally see the world through young Kurt's eyes—that should be fun!
> 
> Next: Kitty and young Kurt get closer to New York—and the truth!


	7. Turning Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Driving, and more driving, and motels--oh my!

**Chapter Seven: Turning Point**

Kurt woke up in a pool of sunshine with a stiff neck and a pounding headache. The headache wasn't a surprise, but the sunshine was. The last thing he remembered was pulling Kitty against his chest, saying a silent prayer, and teleporting, all the way back to the car. At least, he hoped they'd made it to the car; he couldn't quite remember anything after that.

A jolt of panic propelled him upright. That didn't help his head, and the sound that followed didn't help his anxiety—it was Kitty, expelling a yelp of surprise and then swearing as she fought to regain control of the car, which had veered badly into the next lane. Kurt held his head and the seat in front of him as he squinted at Kitty and the sunshine, and waited for both to stop moving. He tried to appreciate the fact that Kitty seemed well, and had apparently helped him escape the circus a second time. But he was a bit too distracted by trying not to throw up.

"Kurt!" Kitty exclaimed, successfully straightening the car in the lane. "What the—you scared the crap out of me!"

"Sorry! I didn't know where we were and…" He cast a glance out the window at the unfamiliar scenery, finally realizing it was morning. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere between Savannah and Charlotte."

Kurt forced his foggy brain to picture a map of the United States. He was quite certain it was a long way from Homestead to the largest city in North Carolina. "You've been driving all night? You must be exhausted."

"I don't care about _me_ ," Kitty insisted, shooting him an intense look. "You're the one who passed out in my arms."

"I'm so sorry," he repeated. He was starting to feel more grounded, enough to shake a hand through his hair and rearrange his clothes on his body

"Don't _apologize_ ," Kitty huffed back. "Just…" She trailed off and then said, in a softer voice, "I was worried about you."

Kurt found her eyes in the mirror, those large hazel orbs that had reflected his own eyes the evening before, when Kitty had been lying so close to him on the hood of the car, playing with his fingers as her pink lips slowly parted. "I'm sorry for that as well," he said seriously.

He watched Kitty flex her jaw and swallow before she offered a small but welcome nod. In the lull that followed, Kurt continued to pull himself together, working a crink out of his tail and rubbing his stiff neck. He was sure he was awake, but part of him wondered. He'd felt like for weeks, though after his first motel breakfast with Kitty, the hope he was dreaming had changed into hope he wasn't. It didn't seem possible he could be lucky enough to be rescued from the worst moment of his life by a woman who was not only beautiful, but smart, compassionate, and brave, who understood being a mutant, and so many other things; he'd only known Kitty for two days, yet it sometimes felt like she knew him better than he knew himself. Her skill with a sword made her almost too perfect. Watching her wield her makeshift weapon while trying not to watch the sweat pooling at her chest or lose himself in the divine spectacle of her pale cheeks flushed with passion, Kurt had known, with improbable though undeniable conviction, that he'd never been in love. He'd thought he had been—with Jimaine, and two other times. But none of those women had felt made for him the way Kitty did.

He placed a hand on the headrest of the passenger's seat, and asked, "Do you mind if I…?"

"Yeah, go ahead." Kitty flashed a surer smile, then added, "I promise not to almost ditch the car this time."

Kurt returned her smile and climbed into the front seat. He felt better once he was sitting next to her, back in the orbit of her warmth. He'd been worried about her, too.

"Are you really okay?" she asked.

"Are you?" He looked at her as he said it, wanting her to see and know how sorry he was; he never should have risked such a lengthy teleport with a passenger. He was also curious about how she'd managed to remain conscious when he'd been knocked out for hours.

"I'm fine," she said, eyes not quite meeting his. "Tired, but fine."

"It must have been unpleasant," he reasoned.

"The driving?"

"No—the teleport."

Kitty ever-so-briefly paused, as he'd noticed she sometimes did before answering certain questions. Kurt knew she was keeping things from him, though he had no way of guessing what. He assumed it was something to do with her home life, which she seemed particularly reticent to discuss.

"Must be my powers," she said. "Maybe my phasing makes me less affected by teleporting."

That made a kind of sense, or at least, didn't feel worthy of challenge; he'd never teleported a fellow mutant before, after all.

"But you didn't answer my question," she pointed out.

"I'm fine as well," he replied, forcing a semblance of a reassuring smile. "Other than a splitting headache and feeling as though the rest of me has been run over by a train, I feel _fantastisch_."

"I shouldn't have made you do it…"

Kurt eyed her. There was a faraway quality to her voice, as though she were speaking as much to herself as to him. "You didn't _make_ me do anything."

"You weren't ready," she continued, in the same faraway voice. "You weren't ready, and I shouldn't have… I should have known you were putting on a brave face."

There was truth to that, at least where his own behavior was concerned. When Kitty had suggested raiding the circus the evening before, he hadn't fully trusted his body to be up to the task. Clearly, it hadn't been; he'd passed out after teleporting before, but never for hours. Yet he'd trusted his heart even less, knowing that once they raided the circus, Kitty would be out of reasons to stay. So would he; though he'd been trying to push it to the back of his mind, he was becoming increasingly concerned about Jimaine not answering his calls. Because he hadn't wanted to refuse for the wrong reasons, he'd agreed to the raid. Now, every part of him hurt, and they were blessedly lucky not to be either dead or sharing a cage back in the Everglades, pumped pull of mutant inhibitors. Yet for some reason, Kitty thought she should be the one apologizing.

Perhaps it had to do with those things she was keeping from him. Or maybe it had something to do with what had almost happened on the hood of the car. The previous morning, casually chatting and joking their way through coffee and donuts, it had felt like he and Kitty had all the time in the world. Then they'd almost kissed, and suddenly, it felt like they had so little time left. Had he been wrong about her wanting to kiss him? He was usually a reliable judge of such things. But Kitty was proving a slippery case study. One moment, she'd be lost in his eyes; the next, she'd already be a continent away.

Kurt said, "I thought I could manage the raid and… I know you're eager to get home."

"Not if it means you getting hurt."

She sounded so serious—as though him getting hurt would hurt her beyond measure. Kurt knew the feeling, though he struggled to understand what he could possibly have done to inspire such loyalty. She'd saved his life, in more ways than one. He'd done nothing besides inconvenience her and occasionally make her smile.

"I want you to know," he said, "I'm not in the habit of attempting stunts I'm not sure of—especially when they involve a partner."

That inspired an amused snort from Kitty that left him thoroughly confused.

"I wasn't joking," he said.

"Oh, I didn't…" Kitty faltered, still avoiding his gaze. "Don't worry—I wouldn't have gone with you if I didn't trust you."

He believed her about trusting him, because he trusted her, too. He knew he shouldn't, and yet, he did. She was so easy to trust, which was why he'd been so shocked by what she'd almost done to Jardine.

"Do you think we could talk about what happened—with Jardine?"

That finally earned him a sidelong look. "If you want."

"I wasn't sure you would stop." Now he was the one struggling to meet her eyes, knowing he'd forgive her completely if he did.

Kitty's voice was flat when she said, "Neither was I."

"Can I ask why you did it?"

"Because he deserved it, and because…"

When she didn't continue, he prompted, gently, "You can tell me."

"Because I was angry," Kitty replied, lips a hard line. "Because I was really fucking angry."

"He's just one bad man. The world has many."

With passion, Kitty said, "But this bad man put my friend in a cage."

There it was again, that flash of something that was more than simple concern. There was a connection between them—there must be. Or else she was crazy, or he was. Kurt had weighed that possibility several times over the past two days, but couldn't make himself take it seriously. If fighting evil men and helping make the world better with Kitty by his side was crazy, he didn't want to be sane.

"Would you have killed him?" he asked.

Kitty blinked slowly into the rising sun. "I'm not sure."

Kurt dropped his gaze to the indigo-furred, two-fingered hands that seemed so normal to him, and so incomprehensible to men like Jardine. He recalled the first time he'd touched Kitty, in the motel kitchenette less than an hour after meeting her, when he'd reached for her hand in an effort to comfort her. He hadn't been worried about touching her, but had still been surprised by how welcome his hand had been. The way she'd relaxed into his touch had made him feel less like a stranger than a long-lost friend. That was the first time he'd wondered if one or both of them might be crazy. It was also the first time he'd realized he didn't care.

"I'm very glad you didn't kill him," he said.

"Me too." They exchanged a look across the seats that Kurt recognized as an apology and a thank you. Though Kitty was often a mystery, there were times when she wasn't—when her thoughts seemed crystal clear.

After a moment, he asked, "What do you think happened after we left? Do you think they arrested Jardine?"

"No. And I'm sure he'll turn the blame on us." Before he could settle on an appropriate response to that disappointing news, she added, "Luckily, though—I'm guessing the cops won't think his story about a demon and a ghost breaking into his trailer to rough him up sounds all that convincing."

"Do you think what we did will help?" he wondered.

"I think the bad publicity will hurt him, and make the labor board take my complaints more seriously. I think Sally will be true to her word. And I think I scared the piss out of him—literally."

"What do you—"

"I mean Jardine wet his pants."

Kurt blinked at her cheek. "You're joking."

"Not even a little."

His lips twitched once, twice, and then finally gave in to a much-needed laugh. "Oh, I shouldn't laugh…"

"Yes you fucking should," Kitty insisted. "You've really, definitely earned it."

"Okay," he agreed, settling into a calm smile. "Just this once."

"You really are that nice, aren't you?" There was something sad in her voice when she said it—like being nice was a bad thing, somehow, or perhaps a dangerous one.

"Is there something wrong with that?" he asked.

"No, it's…" After another trademark pause, she continued, "I have a friend like that. You remind me of him."

"Are there multiple friends I remind you of," Kurt wondered, "or one particular friend?"

Kitty paused again, then said, "It's a particular friend. But in other ways, you're nothing alike."

"I would expect so," Kurt quipped. "I've always known myself to be fairly unique."

That earned him a smile, though it seemed slightly forced. Kurt was finding himself increasingly frustrated by Kitty's present distance. His own mind and body were still reeling from her vigorous dressing down of Jardine, not to mention the way she'd fallen into his arms before the teleport to the car. How could her feelings be so obvious one moment, and so mysterious the next? He wished he could reach for her hand, or that she'd reach for him. It would be so nice to make contact with some warm, soft part of her, to reassure himself and, perhaps, her. He very much hoped his presence was a comfort to her, at least half as much as hers was to him.

"It's a bit strange," he observed, "you lamenting my kindness, after everything you've done for me." It was the closest he dared come to a compliment; her reactions to his compliments had been decidedly unpredictable thus far.

"It was nothing," Kitty scoffed.

"For me, it was considerably more than that."

Kitty chewed her lip, then said, "I guess you'll be going back to Germany now."

Kurt noticed the swerve in the conversation, but was helpless to stop it. "And you'll be going back to New York."

"Do you need me to get you a flight?"

Kurt released a sigh. He didn't feel like talking about his life and obligations a continent away. "I was hoping to get in touch with Jimaine. If I can't reach her, I was planning to sneak aboard a flight, and find my way from there."

"Sounds like a pretty crappy way to travel."

She wasn't wrong, but he was used to it. He shrugged, and said, "I sometimes try to disguise myself in order to move about freely, though it's usually awkward. In this case, I'd rather travel in secret, if possible."

"It won't always be like this," she said.

"Like… what?"

"You not being able to travel, or go where you want to go."

Kurt tried to smile. He appreciated the sentiment, but couldn't quite embrace its truth. "I wasn't aware you counted seeing the future among your many talents."

"You don't believe me?"

"I hope you're right," he replied. "But I don't have much control over such things, one way or another."

Despite the weight of fatigue in every part of his body, he badly wanted to stretch and move. As a compromise, he adjusted himself in the seat, slouching a bit to let his tail swing toward his knees. While he was rubbing his neck, he felt Kitty watching him. More specifically, she was watching his tail, the visible parts of which were making small curves back and forth in the air, trying to feel less cramped. When he settled his tail against his leg, Kitty looked away quickly, as though she'd only just realized she was staring.

"I told you before it's okay to look," he said. "That remains true."

Kitty shook her head, eyes focused on the road. "It's not okay. It's rude."

He shrugged again, bemused by her earnest concern. "If I were you, and you were me—I'd probably want to look. Besides—I'm a performer. I'm used to being looked at."

"Doesn't make it okay," Kitty insisted.

"It's okay if I say it's okay."

That gave her pause. She was chewing her lip again, thinking.

"It's also okay to ask," he assured her. In response to her questioning look, he elaborated, "You seem like you want to ask me something. Something you think it's rude to ask."

Kitty took another moment to consider it, then said, "I've just always wondered… do you tell your tail to do things, or does it just, you know… do them?"

Kurt's lip and eyebrow crooked up. "You've 'always' wondered this?"

Kitty gave her head a decisive shake, unexpectedly put off by his teasing. "Never mind. I shouldn't have—"

"It's a little of both," he told her. "Most of the time, I don't think about it. The same way you don't think about your legs while walking. But I can also tell it to do things, the same way you can tell your legs do things, or things you've trained them to do."

"You train your tail to do things?"

"Wouldn't you?" He was the one chewing his lip now, trying to fight a smile.

"I don't know…" Kitty replied. "I guess I never thought about it."

"All of this 'always' and 'never.' You've known me for less than a week. And I was unconscious for much of it."

He'd anticipated a rejoinder. When he didn't receive it, he started to wonder about those missing days. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he wasn't embarrassed; it was silly to be embarrassed about being ill, in circumstances outside one's control. Then again, Kitty had felt compelled to dress him and help him to the washroom…

"Speaking of those missing days…" he began. "I hope I didn't do anything… strange… while I was…"

"No," Kitty said quickly. "No, nope, nothing strange."

He still wasn't embarrassed, but she obviously was. Her eyes remained resolutely focused on the road, hands firmly gripping the wheel.

"So there was something," he inferred.

Kitty took a steadying breath, then said, "When I first brought you to the motel, I had to dress you. I wanted you to be comfortable, and… Anyway, after I got your clothes on, I realized—you wouldn't be comfortable without a hole for your tail. As I was figuring out where to cut the hole, you sort of…"

Before she trailed off, she had started to make a vague gesture with her hand, which he squinted at for a while, before finally cluing in. "Oh, I um… That spot is very—"

"I got that. Yeah."

"I'm terribly sorry," he offered, and was. There were so many more enjoyable and consensual ways for her to discover a detail like that.

"It's not your fault," she assured him. "I mean, you were unconscious and…"

He was almost scared to ask her to continue, but couldn't help himself. "What?"

"This is just a guess," Kitty continued, "but I figure, with your fur, you're probably more… That is, that you probably feel things a bit… differently."

Had there been other incidents during his convalescence? God, he wished he could remember…

Kitty was still avoiding his gaze, so he addressed himself to her cheek as he said, "Yes. I do."

Strange energy crackled in the silence that followed. Not unpleasant, but definitely strange, because Kitty seemed calm, while he was finally embarrassed, less by his body than his thoughts. He was sure he couldn't remember Kitty stroking his fur or rubbing the base of his tail, but was starting to imagine he did. And he'd always had a vivid imagination, particularly where beautiful women were concerned.

Kurt sat up straighter in his seat, cleared his throat, and said, "Anyway, you need a break. You look exhausted."

"Gee, thanks," Kitty deadpanned.

Kurt studied her cheek, pale, proud, and dusted with loose curls of auburn hair that had slipped free from the chignon she'd tied for the raid on the circus. His lips moved of their own accord to say, "Would you believe me if I said you also look lovely?"

Kitty scoffed as she self-consciously tucked one of her loose curls behind her ear. "Probably not."

"Well then—I may as well say you look beautiful. And that you have looked beautiful, every moment I've known you." That was true. She'd looked beautiful leaning over his motel bed with a halo of sunshine around her curls. She'd looked beautiful misted with sweat while wielding an improvised sword, moving with the determination of a warrior and the grace of a dancer. And she'd looked especially beautiful lying next to him on the hood of the car, alabaster skin glowing in the pinkish light of the sunset as her eyes reflected his own.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," Kitty quipped.

His own voice was level as he said, "Only the beautiful ones."

"Like Sally?"

Kurt blinked, not anticipating that particular swerve. "You think Sally's attractive?"

"You don't?"

"I suppose… Though my opinion of such things tends to be colored by whether the woman in question finds it convenient to pretend I'm less than human for the sake of her own paycheck."

Kitty shot him a glance. "Wow, that was almost—"

"Angry?" he supplied.

"Well, yeah."

"I do get angry, Kitty. But I try very hard not to take my anger out on other people."

"Unlike me."

"I didn't say that," he assured her.

" _I'm_ saying it. I can't believe what I almost did. I just…" She swallowed, then said, "When Jardine said those things, it took me right back to when I found you. When I reached for your hand through the bars, and Jardine wouldn't let me."

Kurt blinked again at her cheek. "You did that?"

"Yeah," she replied, exhaling a breath as she said it. "I did."

Kurt shook his head as he dropped his gaze. "I wish I could remember."

"Remember this instead."

He started a bit when Kitty reached for his hand, unprepared for the very thing he'd been longing for since waking from his teleportation-induced slumber. But he recovered quickly, surrendering his fingers to hers and squeezing back, his thumb gently stroking her wrist. They both held on for a while, the gesture surprisingly comfortable. It felt familiar, somehow, like something they did all the time. Finally, Kitty withdrew her hand, and Kurt let her go, only a little reluctantly, because he was suddenly sure there'd be other times.

"So are you going to let me drive?" he asked.

"I'm not that tired. I can—"

" _Kitty_. Let me help you. Please."

Kitty gave him a sidelong look, still hesitating, but starting to thaw. " _Can_ you drive?"

"How hard can it be?" he quipped. In response to her eye roll, he added, "I'm joking—I can drive. I don't have a _license_ , but…"

"This car isn't registered, and we fled from a crime scene. If we get stopped by the cops, you not having a license will be the least of our problems."

"So it's settled."

"Fine," Kitty agreed, sighing the word with dramatic effort. "We can switch at the next gas station."

"And after that?" he wondered. Unless she wanted to accompany him to Germany, they'd have to eventually part.

Kitty replied, "We'll drive until Delaware, switch cars, and get a motel for the night."

Kurt nodded slowly, processing the fact he and Kitty would still have at least two days together.

"You might as well come with me as far as Newark," she explained, reading his thoughtful silence as something else. "They'll be the most flights from there."

His smile was close-lipped, but as genuine as any he'd ever smiled as he said, "Sounds good to me."

They stopped for gas an hour later, and then they were off again, Kitty arming them with energy bars and more strange American beverages. This one was called iced coffee, and it was exactly what it sounded like. Kurt was skeptical at first; the heat of coffee was so obviously one of its most pleasurable features. But he was quickly won over; the summer sun in this part of the world seemed perfectly suited to consuming ice-cold caffeine.

While Kurt drove, Kitty dozed in the passenger's seat, head resting against the window on a balled-up sweater. Kurt had suggested she'd be more comfortable in the back seat, but Kitty wouldn't hear of it, claiming she owed it to him to be a good "road warrior." Kurt wasn't sure what that meant, though he suspected it didn't usually involve falling asleep. But he didn't mind that; it was good to see Kitty getting some rest. He also needed to make a phone call, for which he'd prefer to have a measure of privacy.

Once he was reasonably sure Kitty was unconscious, he dug his phone out of his pocket, and called Jimaine. She didn't answer, and her voicemail remained full. He expelledwhat he thought was a silent sigh as he slid the phone back into pocket. But somehow, Kitty heard him.

"Still no answer?" she asked. Her eyes had been closed, but when he didn't immediately respond, she opened one of them. "Why don't you tell me what's going on? Maybe I can help."

Kurt continued to hesitate, but not for long. If he truly trusted Kitty, he should be able to trust her with this. "In addition to my sister, I have a foster brother. His name is Stefan. Before I left, he was acting… strangely."

"How strangely?"

Incongruous sun filled his vision as he said, "He said he was seeing demons. Real ones."

"Could he be right?"

"You believe in demons?" he kidded. But Kitty had both eyes open now, and wasn't laughing. "It did occur to me," he admitted. "But I wasn't sure what to do about it at the time, and felt confident Jimaine and my mother could handle it."

"But now Jimaine isn't answering her phone. And you're worried."

"A little, yes."

"Sounds like your family's pretty resourceful, though."

"You have no idea…"

"You'd be surprised."

Kurt regarded her thoughtfully. "Perhaps, perhaps not… You don't have to tell me—about what brought you to Florida, or why you were at the circus. But I want you to know that you _can_ tell me, should you ever feel you want to."

"If I could tell you, I would." She sounded genuine; she also sounded sad, for reasons Kurt knew he may never understand. After everything she'd done for him, he owed her her privacy, and so much more.

For the next several hours, Kitty continued to drift in and out of sleep, and Kurt continued to try and ignore his still-aching body in order to properly enjoy every moment of the time they had left. When Kitty was asleep, each quick glace at her slack face buried in her makeshift pillow warmed his heart; it was so nice to be able to take care of her for once. When she was awake, they chatted idly, about the scenery, and movies, and a few personal things. He told her more about the circus, enough that he hoped she could picture it—the lights, and colors, and tension, and especially the reckless grace of it all, which had always been his favorite part. He loved the weightless moments between the fall and the catch, suspended in air, time, and the spotlight, high above the hushed awe of the crowd. In return, Kitty told him a bit about her studies. Kurt only understood enough to confirm what he already knew—Kitty was smart. Very smart—smarter than he could ever hope to be. To be that smart and also good with her fists and a blade… He marveled again at his good fortune, to have ever met such a woman, let alone have her rescue him from a nightmare.

Sometime after six pm local time, they arrived in the vicinity of Newport, Delaware, where Kitty proposed they stop for the night. First, they dealt with the car. Kitty seemed to find that an easy task; he was waiting in the alley behind the used car lot for less than twenty minutes before Kitty pulled up in a forest green Hyundai Accent, honked, and winked at him through the open window. Next, they had to find a suitable motel. Kitty chose the Belvedere Inn off a smaller highway adjacent to the I-95, that seemed deserted yet respectable. On the towering highway sign, the name was written in script inside a pink heart. Smaller hearts advertised access to cable TV, fireplace suites, and an outdoor heated pool.

Kurt waited in the car parked a discrete distance from the lobby as Kitty arranged the particulars. When she returned and dropped back into the driver's seat a few minutes later, something about her expression made him to ask, "What's wrong?"

Kitty replied, "There was some song and dance about a burst pipe. That's why it's so empty—half the rooms are blocked off. I was going to say 'thanks anyway' and try the next place, but then she offered me a free upgrade, and I was curious to see what that meant, so…"

Kurt smiled appreciatively. "I dare say my flair for the dramatic is rubbing off on you."

"That'll be the day," Kitty scoffed, but she was smiling too. They'd settled into an easy rhythm with their teasing that felt like the product of years instead of days.

They parked in front of their room and shared the work of collecting the bags, Kurt disguising himself as best he could with his hood, sunglasses, and a pair of uncomfortable sneakers. Despite what he'd said to Kitty earlier about being accustomed to hiding, he always disliked it; it never stopped feeling unfair or ironic, that he was saddled with the burden of protecting people from their own adverse reactions to his appearance, which wasn't his fault and was none of their business. But in this instance, he agreed it was for the best. For all he knew, he was a wanted man; it all depended on what Jardine had told the cops, and whether they believed him.

He followed Kitty into the room, and nearly ran into her when she suddenly stopped in her tracks, duffle back thudding to the floor at her side. Kurt pivoted nimbly to avoid her, and then saw what she did. "Is that bed… heart-shaped?"

It was a rhetorical question. The bed was definitely heart-shaped, standing on a red velvet pedestal below a matching red velvet canopy.

Kitty took several more steps into the spacious room, gaze travelling left, toward the bathroom. "Oh god, so is the bathtub… and there are… so many mirrors…" She turned to him with a stricken expression as she realized, "This is a honeymoon suite."

"Ja," Kurt agreed, sliding off his sunglasses and his hood. "It seems so." His own gaze was wandering over the suite's other features—heart-shaped light sconces, a purple velvet sofa decorated with pink and white satin pillows, an enormous television atop a polished lacquer table, and an equally enormous gas fireplace with a bouquet of fake flowers on the woodgrain laminate mantlepiece.

"We can't stay here," Kitty stated, picking up her bag and taking several determined steps toward the door. "There must be somewhere else. We can drive a bit more, find another motel…"

"Kitty, wait…" he reached for her hand to stop her, and did, compelling her to turn, slowly, to face him.

"We've been driving all day, and all night," he reminded her. "There's a bed, and a couch. I'm sure we can figure it out. It's just one night, after all."

"Fine, but I'll take the—"

" _I'll_ take the couch," he insisted. "Just as long as you're able to locate something for us to eat that _isn't_ wrapped in plastic."

Kitty's eyes remained furtive, but the color had returned to her cheeks. "No promises. But you're right, it'll be fine. I mean—it's just one night."

"Exactly." The word emerged flatter than he intended, but Kitty's didn't seem to notice. She was already making her way toward the heart-shaped bed, and tossing her duffle bag onto it.

"I'm gonna go out for that food," she declared. "You wanna come with?"

"If it's all the same to you—I'd rather stay and have a shower." He dropped his own duffle bag onto the couch as he added, "I'm also looking forward to changing into some of my own clothes."

"Sick of sweatpants?" she teased.

"And makeshift tail holes," he returned.

"Fair enough. I won't be long."

"Take your time," he advised, ambling to the edge of the bathroom door. "This looks like… a very nice shower." It did, the stall was generously large, and equipped with multiple adjustable jets; the room may be tacky, but it didn't lack for amenities. Kitty also wasn't kidding about the mirrors; there was a wall of them in the shower, and more on the ceiling.

"Try not to get lost in your own reflection," Kitty warned.

"I'd only worry about that if you were with me." The awkward silence that followed his comment inspired his second flash of embarrassment; perhaps he'd been wrong about their easy rapport. "I'm joking," he assured her.

"I know," Kitty said quickly, eyes darting sideways when he looked for them. "Anyway, I'm gonna…"

"I'll um… see you soon."

"Yeah, sounds good…"

When she closed the door behind her, Kurt released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He didn't know why things had suddenly become tense between them. Or, more accurately—he suspected he did know, but wasn't sure why it was a problem. Yes, they had to go back to their respective lives. But there were phones, letters, email… If he liked her, and she liked him, there were ways to make it work. Then again—he was who he was. Even if Kitty liked who he was, he hadn't yet figured out a way to properly exist in the world beyond the secluded bubble of the circus. And if recent experiences had taught him anything, it was that circuses could be their own prisons, no better than anywhere else, and perhaps even worse. Maybe Kitty wasn’t willing to accept that burden. Despite her two years of singledom, a woman like Kitty must have a great many suitors, and presumably most of those suitors weren’t at risk of being imprisoned in a freak show.

He hoped the shower would shake him out of his melancholy turn, and for a while, it did. The warm jets massaging his sore muscles felt divine, and he spent some time luxuriating in the spray, leisurely working soap through his fur. But after a while, he started thinking again.

It was his third shower since Kitty had rescued him from the circus, but he still didn't feel clean. Part of him feared he never would. Perhaps he'd never be able to properly scrub the stench of that place out of his fur. Perhaps it would always cling to him, threatening to drag him back.

Quiet moments had been a problem ever since he'd woken up in the motel with Kitty. Whenever he'd had some time alone, it required effort not to think about Kitty finding him there, in that state. Like an animal. Like a _thing_. How must he have looked, filthy and lolling in a drug-induced stupor? It was a miracle she'd recognized him as human. If not for that miracle, he might still be there, huddled in the straw, lapping water from a bowl on the floor…

He turned toward the water, letting it pelt his cheek and neck, and then rubbed a rough hand over his face, as though a steady hand might clear his head. When he turned again, he found himself facing the wall of mirrors. He swiped a hand through the fog and regarded himself in the glass. He looked thin—thinner than he'd been when he'd arrived in America, and he'd never exactly been sturdy. But he liked his body. He liked the lean muscles he'd worked hard to build and tone. He liked the feet that helped him balance on tightropes and stick every landing. He liked his eyes that let him see in the dark, and he definitely liked his tail and his fur, and knew he wasn't the only one; each of his romantic partners had enjoyed those features almost as much as he did. Yet there were other people, like Jardine, and the hundreds of circus goers who'd paid to watch him grovel in the straw, who saw things differently—who thought the same things he liked about himself were ugly, wrong, and monstrous.

Kurt closed his eyes, and reached for the wall. When that still didn't steady him, he reached again for himself, running slow hands through his hair and down his neck to his chest and other restless body parts. With his head dropped, he opened his eyes to watch the soap run down his legs as the water pounded against his back, and wished someone else was touching him, someone with small, strong hands, who'd know exactly how to touch him, which shouldn't have been possible, but was, because she already seemed to know him so well.

He wondered, briefly, if he wanted Kitty merely because he wanted to feel wanted. Jimaine had accused him of that once, during one of their many breaks, after he'd taken Madelyn to the swimming hole he used to visit with her. At the time, he'd chalked the comment up to jealousy, despite the fact that, as usual, Jimaine had been the one who'd broken up with him. He was still inclined to think that, though he'd become more willing to admit that the accusation had a glimmer of truth. He did badly want to feel wanted, most of the time, and especially now, after everything that had happened during the past three weeks. But he hadn't lied to Kitty about needing to care for women he was intimate with. Sally had been attractive, but she hadn't been Kitty. At present, he couldn't imagine any woman shining as brightly as Kitty.

After his shower, he put on his favorite jeans and a crisp white t-shirt from his recovered duffle bag. His choice of outfit didn't particularly make sense. He was already exhausted, and was sure Kitty was even more so; once she got back, he doubted they'd be awake for long. But it felt good to be wearing his own clothes, that hugged his body in the ways and places he liked. It didn't just feel good—it felt human. It had always been important to him to feel human, and never more so than now.

By the time Kitty returned, carrying a large brown paper bag that smelled both unhealthy and wonderful, Kurt had nearly forgotten he'd ever been melancholy. Company usually had that effect on him, especially when it was the company of a woman, and even more especially when it was the company of a woman like Kitty. No, he corrected himself. There were no other women like Kitty. In all the world, she was one of a kind—like himself, but different.

He'd been lying on the couch, flipping through the journal he'd thought was lost, but stood up to greet her as she entered.

Kitty flashed a crooked smile as she brandished the bag in her hand and declared, "Hope your stomach's up for a genuine encounter with American-style sugar, grease, and carbs."

Kurt returned her smile. "I wouldn't want to travel all this way and not get the full experience."

They ate their burgers and fries on the floor in front of the fireplace, food and bodies spread across blankets scavenged from the bed and extra linen closet. In what must have been a fit of whimsy, Kitty even turned on the fireplace. Against all odds, the heat felt nice; although it remained sweltering outside the motel room, inside, the seemingly super-powered air conditioning created a very different climate.

Kurt had thought he was hungry, but only just managed to make it through his "genuine American" meal. Where both food and feats of athleticism were concerned, his mind remained more willing than his body. After forcing down his last french fry, he reclined on a satin pillow and blinked dazedly at the ceiling, realizing that it, too, was dotted with mirrors.

"How was it?" Kitty asked.

He swiveled his head to look at her, reclining next to him on the blanket. "I'm not sure yet. You may need to ask me again in an hour."

Kitty made a small amused sound. She was lying on her side, head propped up by her crooked elbow, firelight dancing across her pale cheeks and arms. She hadn't changed since the raid, but had long since discarded her sweater, leaving her in black yoga pants and a curve-hugging black tank top.

"Other than hopefully mild indigestion," she said, "how are you feeling?"

"Fine," he replied automatically, returning his gaze to the ceiling.

Without looking, he could feel Kitty's gaze on his cheek. He turned again to look at her as he repeated, "I'm fine. Really."

"Like you were fine before we raided the circus?"

So she was upset about that. "I didn't think I _wasn't_ fine," Kurt offered.

Kitty's voice was concerned rather than angry as she said, "You should have told me."

"Would you have waited?"

"I'd do anything to keep you safe."

He believed her. He'd only properly met her two days ago, and knew so little about her life or past or future, and yet, he was certain she'd never lie to him. He was also certain she cared as deeply as she claimed; the night before, she'd almost killed for him.

Kurt voiced the question he'd been asking himself. "What have I done, to inspire this loyalty?"

"You're a good person, and…" She trailed off awkwardly, and pushed herself upright, gaze lost in the glow of the fire. "And we're mutants," she finished. "Mutants need to stick together."

Kurt wondered at that line. It was the second time she'd said it, and both times had come after trailing off. It felt like a substitute for something else, though he didn't dare hope what that something else was.

"I need a shower," Kitty declared, climbing to her feet.

"Go," Kurt urged, pushing himself up after her. "I'll clean this up."

Kitty returned sometime later securely cocooned in a fuzzy pink bathroom that was several sizes too big. She looked adorable—like a beautiful woman turned cuddly marshmallow. Kurt strongly suspected he shouldn't tell her that, but he did smile to himself at the thought.

"Are you tired?" she asked.

He was sitting on the couch again, reading the journal entry he'd made the day before departing for Florida. "A little. You?"

"A little…" She was standing in the middle of the room, carefully shifting her weight from one bare foot to the other. "Do you wanna see if there's a movie on?"

Kurt smiled. "I'd like that very much."

They ended up watching TV on the bed, which was at a better angle than the couch. They flipped through a few different things, before getting sucked into the scenery of _Roman Holiday_ with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn, a film neither of them had seen.

"I'd love to go there some day," said Kitty, eyes lost in black and white views of Rome via Vespa.

"You should," said Kurt. "It's a beautiful city."

"You've been?"

"No, I've only been as far as Milan. We performed there, years ago."

"But she's gonna have to go back."

"Who is? To where?"

"Audrey. She's gonna have to go back to her princess stuff."

"I thought you'd never seen this film," said Kurt.

"I haven't but… it's obvious she can't stay."

"I guess we'll see."

Kitty looked at him, her still-damp curls tangled in the thick collar of her bathrobe. They were both leaning back against pillows piled high on the tufted red headboard. "You wanna watch the rest?"

"I want to see how it ends," Kurt replied.

Kitty didn't respond, but did shift deeper into the pillows, until her fuzzy shoulder was resting against his. As the movie continued, her shoulder became most of her arm, and then her cheek, pressed against his bicep where the sleeve of his t-shirt met his fur. Like the way she'd held his hand in the car, the gesture felt natural, like something she did all the time. So much so, Kurt slid his arm around her shoulders, to let her press deeper. At some point, it became clear Kitty was right—Audrey's princess was going to return to her royal responsibilities, and Peck's newspaper reporter was going to go back to work. But when Kurt ducked his chin to reluctantly congratulate Kitty on her correct guess, he realized she was asleep. He said her name, softly, but she didn't stir. Kitty was well and truly lost in slumber after a very long day and night, and a long week before that.

Kurt turned off the movie and the light, and made a move to extricate himself. In response, Kitty gripped tighter, fingers tangling in the hem of his t-shirt as her cheek rubbed his arm. She was still sleeping, but clearly didn't want her latest makeshift pillow to leave. Kurt looked skyward, into yet another mirror, affixed to the ceiling at the center of the bed's red velvet canopy. He and Kitty seemed an unlikely pair—an angel in a pink cloud and a blue demon in faded denim. But the scene didn't look strange. Instead, it looked right—like somewhere Kurt had always wanted to go, and very much wanted to stay. And so, unlike Peck or Hepburn's characters, he did stay, pulling a throw blanket over Kitty's bare feet, and making himself as comfortable as he could without dislodging her.

For a while, he continued to study their reflection in the ceiling mirror. Maybe falling asleep against his body was merely an instinctual action. He was warm, soft, and available, and Kitty was exhausted. Yet she'd chosen to be here, with him, when she could have already gone. She was the one who'd purposely entered his life, and seemed to keep coming up with reasons to stay. Kitty had already told him she cared for him. But if she cared so much, why was she also so insistent on leaving? What was she running from—or to?

Whether or not Kitty ever told him the truth, Kurt knew he'd have to be content, since it was ultimately her secret to have or to share. And so, he did his best to embrace the moment, settling his head into the pillows, closing his eyes, and inhaling the scent of Kitty's clean hair as her slow, steady heartbeat lulled him to sleep.

…

When Kurt woke up, he didn't notice the sunshine swelling in the shiny purple curtains. All he knew or cared about was Kitty, snuggled against his body in her oversized bathrobe, her breath stirring the fur at his neck. She was clinging to him like she thought he might escape or disappear, one hand partly knotted in his t-shirt, the other sliding under it to rest against his midsection. Her hand felt good there—warm and sure. Her weight felt better, much of her reclining against the length of him. He was holding her more loosely, one hand tucked under her neck, the other resting against his own side. His tail had wrapped itself around his ankle, as it often did when he was sleeping.

He wished he could stay there—forever if possible, feeling drowsy, happy, and loved. But his body wouldn't let him. He felt stiff again, and hungrier than he'd been in days. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled under Kitty's hand. She stirred a bit in response, fingers ruffling his fur at his ribs as her cheek nuzzled his neck. Kurt inhaled and released a long, careful breath, and knew he had to wake her. It was either that, or risk something at least as embarrassing as whatever he'd apparently done when Kitty had cut a hole in his pants for his tail.

"Kitty… Kitty, wake up…"

She did, but gradually, snuggling a bit more before she finally opened her eyes, dark lashes blinking against his chest. "Mmmm… what…"

She pulled back when she realized where she was, but only a little. Her fingers were still in his fur, her cheek still close.

"Morning," she mumbled.

"It seems so," he agreed, smiling softly into her sleep-creased face.

"You stayed here all night?"

"You feel asleep on my shoulder."

"Is that the only reason?"

"I don't know… Is it?"

Her hand pulled back to his chest, but stopped there, touching the space between his pecs. Kurt moved cautiously, remembering how sure he'd been lying next to her on the hood of the car, only to be proven wrong. But she was definitely getting closer. And her lips were definitely open—just enough to want to be more so.

He met her lips once, gently, an equally gentle hand trailing down her side. The second time was better, because Kitty was kissing him back, her own hand sliding down his chest to his hip.

As he tilted his chin for round three, Kitty made the wrong kind of sound, and violently twisted out of his grip, scrambling to the edge of the bed before staggering to her feet. Kurt sat up to blink dumbly at her retreating form, at a loss. One moment she'd seemed so content, and the next…

"Are you okay?" he wondered.

"No! No, I'm not, I'm…"

Surprise gave way to worry as Kurt threw his legs over the side of the bed, and hurried to her side. "What's—"

She immediately ducked out from under the hand he laid on her shoulder, shaking her head and holding it as she stumbled toward the fireplace.

All he wanted to do was reach for her—to comfort and ease her obvious pain. But it was now clear touching her was entirely the wrong thing to do. "I'm so sorry, Kitty. I would never… I thought you _wanted_ —"

"I did!" she exclaimed, dropping her forearms against the mantle and then dropping her head between them. "I did want to, and that's the problem."

"Why is that a problem?"

"Because it's wrong. It's—it's so wrong…"

Kurt felt the blood drain from his cheeks. "Of all the people who might say that to me… I never thought you'd be one of them."

Kitty straightened and turned to him, eyes damp and wide. "Oh Kurt, that's not what I… It's wrong for a different reason. A _very_ different reason."

"And that is…?"

She dropped her gaze again, vigorously shaking her head. "You'll never believe me."

"Why don't you let me decide that?"

"I'm not who you think I am."

"Then who are you?"

She took a breath, regarded him squarely, and said, in a clear voice, "I'm from the future."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dum dum dummmmm…..! Oh man, the cat's out of the bag! You guys, I'm so excited for the next chapter… ;) No canon notes other than: I made up Madelyn. This isn't some obscure comics reference, don't worry :)


	8. Interlude II- Back to the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we check back in with the present/future, where Kitty's still missing, and Kurt's still upset... Also: Emma Frost!

**Interlude II—Back to the Future**

Three hours had passed since Kitty had slipped from Kurt's fingers into a Cerebro and cosmic cube-generated portal, and vanished. She remained vanished, along with the portal, which they couldn't re-open without a cosmic cube, and the last known cube in existence had vanished along with Kitty and the portal. It was a truly intractable situation. Which made three hours feel more like three centuries.

At least, that's what it felt like to Kurt, leaning over the railing of the catwalk above the mansion's basement lab, looking down on the X-Men's biggest brains clustering and milling around computer consoles and holographic drawing boards. He'd clustered with them for a while, because he wanted Kitty back, and because he needed to be distracted—from the general loss of Kitty, but especially from the final moment before she'd vanished, when she'd met his eyes with something like a plea or apology, or even a hint of fear. But it had quickly become clear his trying to help was doing more harm than good. While he was far from useless when it came to technical challenges, he wasn't Hank, Sage, or their several young disciples. They'd have the best chance of getting Kitty back if he left the true experts on physics, quantum mechanics, and alien technology to their work. And so, he'd retreated to the catwalk, to watch, wonder, and think. That's where Emma Frost found him.

Kurt felt the White Queen's presence before he saw her. There was something about the approach of telepaths—some tickle in the back of the mind that probably wasn't intentional, though with Emma, one could never be certain. Kurt had learned to trust Emma—up to a point. Part of him even liked her; he'd always had a soft spot for strong women who took pride in their strength, and flatly refused to be changed or humbled. But Emma was very low on the list of people he was currently interested in seeing. His emotions were too raw, and in the presence of a telepath—especially one with a particular fondness for cataloging weaknesses—that could be dangerous, or at the very least unpleasant. He didn't want Emma of all people to know that in addition to the look on Kitty's face as she'd slipped through his fingers, he was still thinking about Miami. If Kitty hadn't vanished in the portal, he'd probably be stepping out of the shower, thinking about what to wear, and wondering what Kitty thought dressing "nice" should look like. He was sure she'd been joking when she'd said that, and yet, she hadn't been joking when she'd invited him to dinner somewhere far away from the mansion's history and prying eyes.

"Kurt."

Kurt greeted Emma with a protective smile. He knew it was a pointless gesture, but couldn't stop himself. It was a reflex, like the urge to teleport away from danger—something else he very badly wanted to do.

"Emma. What brings you to a basement laboratory, of all places, on a Friday evening?"

She certainly wasn't dressed for the occasion, though of course with Emma, that was par for the course. The White Queen was currently wearing a relatively demure ensemble consisting of elbow-length white silk gloves, low-slung white leather pants, and a matching white bustier with glistening hook and eye fastenings and a generous diamond at the plunge of her similarly generous décolletage. Kurt had no idea how she was navigating the corrugated metal catwalk in four-inch heels. Nor did he have any way of knowing; when being approached by Emma Frost, it was virtually impossible to look at her feet.

"Six pm isn't evening," Emma purred, rolling to a stop at his side. "It's late afternoon, at best. And you brought me here—by dropping one of my favorite disciples down a mysterious portal."

At any other time, Kurt might have questioned Emma's characterization of her relationship with Kitty. But in the present moment, his mind caught on her characterization of him. "You think I _dropped_ Kitty?"

" _I_ don't think so. But you do."

Kurt wasn't smiling anymore. "Are you here to tell me I shouldn't be so hard on myself? That it wasn't my fault she fell?"

"No," Emma replied, crisply. "I _am_ displeased with your role in this mess. Someone with your pedigree has no business being so careless with such valuable cargo. But I do share your desire to recover said cargo. And I think you might be able to help."

Kurt shook his head. "There's nothing I can do that Henry and his team can't."

"Perhaps, although… The cosmic cube was connected to a Cerebro helmet."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning emotions may be involved. And you, Kurt darling, are a hot mess of emotions."

Kurt looked at her, displaying a rare frown. "Kitty is like a sister to me. Of course I'm upset that she's missing"

"Interesting choice of words," Emma observed.

"Which?"

"It was the use of the word 'sister' that particularly stood out to me. Given your history."

Kurt pushed himself off the railing to regard Emma squarely, crossing his arms over his chest as his tail made small, tight shapes behind his ankles. It wasn't the most comfortable pose for the ribs he'd bruised after crashing through Kitty's body into the wall, but the stability felt necessary. "As much as I enjoy defending my romantic life to a woman who teaches high school literature classes in fetish wear—is there a point to this, Emma?"

Emma's ice-pink lips pursed into a cool smile. "Sassy looks good on you. Much better than that waifish elf act you so frequently fall back on." Whether in deference to Kurt's unamused expression or in a rare bout of shame, Emma withdrew her smile, and said, "Yes, there is a point. What were you thinking about, when Kitty vanished?"

"I wasn't thinking about anything," said Kurt. "I was too busy trying to save her."

"Everyone's always thinking about _something_ , darling. Try harder."

Kurt cast his gaze back down into the lab, watching Hank bending over the remains of the contraption responsible for generating the portal. "If I was thinking about anything… it was not wanting to lose her."

"Anything else?"

Kurt looked left, then right, took a breath, and released it. There wasn't much point in lying to a telepath, especially when Kitty's fate may be at stake. "Kitty invited me to dinner. Part of me may have been thinking about that."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Emma cock a pale eyebrow. "Just the two of you?"

"Yes…why?"

Emma shrugged a single shoulder. "You're the one who's preoccupied by it."

"I'm not—" he began, then amended, "Why does this matter now?"

"Because," Emma replied, "the cosmic cube was feeding energy into a device that tracks and amplifies mutant brain waves."

"You're saying the portal may be connected to our thoughts?"

"Clever boy. Now, let's talk about this dinner date."

"It wasn't a—"

"Were you going to dinner in the city?"

Kurt closed his eyes to steel himself for Emma's reaction as he said, "We were going to… Miami."

"Miami… Florida?"

"That's what I said…" Kurt muttered, replacing his hands on the railing.

"So it was Kitty's idea," Emma inferred.

"I agreed to it."

"But you didn't want to." In response to Kurt's questioning look, she added, "When I said 'Florida,' your brain lit up like fireworks. Not the fun kind. In fact, it was more like a minefield."

Kurt met her gaze for a moment, enough to be sure she wasn't teasing him. She wasn't; if he didn't know better, he might even say her expression bore a hint of sympathy. "Something happened to me there, a long time ago. But I haven't thought about it in years."

"Are you sure?" As Kurt considered the question, Emma said, "You don't have to tell me. But the where and when would be helpful."

"The Jardine Circus," he replied, grateful for the reprieve. "It was in the Florida Everglades, near Homestead. I was there for several weeks, seven years ago."

"Before you joined the X-Men."

"Yes."

"Is the circus still there?"

"I have no earthly idea." That was true. In all the years since his horrible first weeks in America, he hadn't once looked for the Jardine Circus in a phone book or search engine. That seemed strange in retrospect, but not as strange as his memories from that time. They'd always been foggy, courtesy of the debilitating cocktail of drugs he'd been fed during his "stay" at the circus. But when he tried to recall the memories he was sure he did have, they seemed foggier than usual. Had he been there for three weeks, or two? He should be able to remember that, at least…

Emma's voice pulled him back to the present. "I'll ask the Cuckoos to look into it. Anything else I should know?"

Instead of answering her, Kurt said, "If the portal was responding to emotions, or brain waves, or… whatever it is you're suggesting—why would it choose my thoughts rather than Kitty's, or Henry's? We were all here when it happened."

"We don't know that it _did_ respond to your thoughts," Emma replied. "But you and Kitty were closest to the portal when it imploded. And you're here. Kitty's not."

Kurt dropped his gaze to his white-booted feet, and the spade tip of his tail twitching between them.

After a moment, Emma said, with uncharacteristic tenderness, "We're going to get her back, Kurt."

"I keep telling myself that, but… what if we can't?"

Emma's crisp tone was back when she said, "Then you'll have learned a valuable lesson about being honest with the women in your life before they vanish through mysterious portals." When Kurt raised his gaze to hers, she added, "Or should that be—being honest with yourself?"

Kurt looked away again, knowing Emma was right, but not quite willing to accept it. There were reasons he'd been avoiding Kitty after he'd found out she was moving to Chicago for school—namely, a strange and unexpected worry that if he saw her, and especially if he touched her, he might not be able to let go. Yet he had let her go, even as he'd fought to hold on... He also remained troubled by his cloudy memories. How had he escaped from the Jardine Circus? He was sure he used to know, but every time he tried to picture anything from the immediate aftermath of his escape, the memories that should have been there felt frustratingly out of reach. Just like Kitty had been, as he'd lunged for her hand...

"What's wrong?" It was Emma. She was still there, one white-gloved hand touching the railing as she searched for his face.

"It's my memories of Florida," Kurt replied, shaking his head to clear it. "For some reason, I'm finding them hard to recall."

Emma's blue eyes narrowed. "Was that always the case?"

"I don't know," Kurt admitted. "I feel as though I used to remember certain things, but somehow… I can't. I only noticed it now."

"May I?" Her white-gloved hand was raised, preparing to touch his temple. She was asking to read his mind.

Kurt took a steadying breath, and gave a reluctant nod. He didn't like the prospect of the White Queen poking around inside his mind, but the prospect of withholding something that might help Kitty was far worse.

He felt Emma's fingers an instant before he felt her mind, tickling, and then probing. It wasn't unpleasant, though Emma's mind was different from Jean's. Being touched by Jean's mind was warm, and welcoming, so much so it was sometimes hard to leave. Emma's mind was cooler, but still had a powerful pull; he wanted to surrender to her touch, to give her everything she wanted, and more, and thank her for the privilege… Until, suddenly, he didn't.

"Stop, Emma— _stop_!"

He wrenched himself out of her grip and staggered back, clutching a spot at his right temple that felt exactly like it was burning, or that part of his brain was trying to violently rocket out of his skull.

"No need to _shout_ , Kurt," Emma admonished, gingerly dabbing her own forehead. "I heard you quite well in my mind."

"I'm sorry," said Kurt, slowly coming back to himself. "But as soon as you started to—"

"Yes, I felt it too," said Emma. "There's something in there. Or rather, something _not_ there."

"Suppressed memories?" Kurt wondered.

"Or missing ones. Without a closer look, I'm afraid I can't be sure."

Kurt straightened, turned to her, and said, in a clear voice, "Then take a closer look."

"The mind is a complex instrument. I can't simply—"

"I've seen you do it before."

"Yes," said Emma. "And the consequences were dire."

For a long moment, their eyes locked, fiery gold challenging icy blue. Emma broke the standoff by saying, "I'm sure Kitty would appreciate your chivalry. I'm also sure she'd appreciate not coming home to find you suffering from irreparable brain damage."

"Fine," Kurt conceded. "But if it comes to it—"

"Your compulsion for dramatic martyrdom is noted," Emma informed him. "Now if you'll excuse me—my girls and I have work to do."

"I'll—" But before Kurt could offer to help, someone else asked for his.

"Kurt?" It was Hank, calling up to him from the under the catwalk. "If you're not otherwise engaged, I could use your help. I seem to recall you spending some time learning about the internal wiring of Cerebro units."

Kurt sighed at the very clear memory of the dozens of hours he'd spent doing exactly that, hanging from the ceiling and stuffed under consoles in Moria's lab, when he'd been the leader of Excalibur. All for the sake of a Cerebro unit they'd never actually managed to complete—and that had exploded in his face more than once.

"Looks like you're needed elsewhere," Emma observed.

Kurt told Hank he'd be right there, while permitting himself a moment to watch Emma leave, still perplexed by the steadiness of her heels on the corrugated metal. He hadn't particularly wanted to help Emma and the Cuckoos, but he also wasn't looking forward to spending time with Hank, with whom he was still angry, and he hated being angry. He also wanted to know more about Emma's theory. Was she suggesting his mind had sent Kitty somewhere? And to the Jardine Circus, of all places? What, exactly, did that mean? Would she arrive there in the present... or in the past?

Finally, Kurt decided anything was better than thinking about Kitty, and the awful possibility that her disappearance might be his fault in more ways than one. So he teleported to the ground, and got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, I wonder if the changes to the past might be affecting the present... I know this chapter was a bit of a tease—all I had time for this week, unfortunately! But the next chapter will take us back to the past, I promise :) 
> 
> Continuity wise: This doesn't really make sense. Neither Emma nor Sage would be here during this time, I don't think. But using Emma was the most fun, so... Let's not worry about it, and move on to bigger and better things, shall we? ;)


	9. Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kurt (and Kitty) learn (some of) the truth...

**Chapter Nine: Reckoning**

"I'm from the future."

Kitty met nineteen-year-old Kurt's eyes as she said it, doing her best to make her expression as open and honest as possible, and infuse the words with credible clarity and purpose. Kurt stared back at her, golden eyes deliberately blinking, and then squinting crookedly, as though puzzling through a math problem written across her face.

Finally, he voiced the same question she'd undoubtedly ask in his place. "Are you joking?"

Kitty didn't reply. She merely looked at him, jaw latched tight to keep her lip from trembling. He'd kissed her. He'd kissed her, and she'd kissed him back—this Kurt who wasn't Kurt, with his velvet fur, graceful cheekbones, and wavy hair that kept falling into his bottomless eyes, who'd slept in his clothes with an arm around her shoulders on a heart-shaped bed in a tacky honeymoon suite because she'd fallen asleep clutching him like a life preserver. She'd kissed him, and started opening her mouth as her hand slipped over the hard, silky curve of his hip…

Kurt's expression settled into something more neutral as he realized, "You're not joking… are you?"

Kitty forced a swallow through her tight throat. But her voice was still smaller than she intended when she said, "You believe me?"

Kurt sighed as he pivoted away from her, running a slow hand through his sleep-tousled hair. "I've led a rather unique life. And if that life has taught me anything, it's to expect the unexpected."

"Are _you_ joking?" Kitty wondered.

When he turned again to face her, it was clear that he wasn't. There was a visible weight on his shoulders and tugging at the sides of his mouth that put another crack in her already fragile heart, and made her wonder again about all the things she didn't know about Kurt's unique life. What loses and surprises had he faced before now? When did he know his foster mother was a sorceress? When had he first learned to teleport? Who had he loved, and how? Had anyone broken his heart? Had it been Amanda?

By way of reply, Kurt asked, "How does one go about time travelling? Magic?"

"No—science."

"Okay, then… _why_ does one time travel?"

Kitty broke her gaze, and shifted her weight, wishing she was wearing something—anything—besides a fuzzy pink bathrobe. Maybe sitting down would help. "Do you mind if we…?"

Kurt dutifully followed her to the couch, where they stiffly settled themselves into opposite corners. While she crossed her legs and tried not to slouch, Kurt sat with one denim-clad knee pulled up to his chest. Kitty recognized it as a protective pose, and didn't blame him. He'd kissed her, not knowing who she really was. And she'd kissed him back, knowing him entirely too well, yet somehow not well enough. He deserved better—they both did.

"I didn't mean to come here," she told him. "It was an accident. It was an accident and… I need to get home."

"Where is home?" Kurt asked. "Or, I suppose—when?"

"Seven years from now."

"That's not so far."

"To me, it feels like a lifetime," she sighed, letting some of her own exhaustion show.

"How do you plan to get home?"

"I'm not sure, but… I'm going to start in New York. That's where I usually live. And I know someone there who might be able to help."

"You know two people," Kurt corrected her. "I'll help you. I don't know how, but—"

"No, I, we—we can't."

"Why?"

Kitty let the question hang, at a loss. She knew she couldn't take him up on his offer, but was having a hard time remembering why.

Kurt looked skyward, and Kitty followed his gaze into a scatter of mirrors. There seemed to be mirrors affixed to the wall or ceiling near every piece of furniture in the room. As Kitty studied her own fragmented face in the glass, she found herself wondering how often anyone cleaned the mirrors. Then she found herself wondering how often anyone cleaned anything. She shifted her weight again on the velvet cushions, thankful that at least she was wearing underwear.

"I knew there was something going on," said Kurt, gaze descending to hers. "Something important that you weren't telling me. I wouldn't have guessed this, but… Where do I fit into your plans?"

"What do you—"

"If you're only here by accident, and you're so eager to get home—why did you save me from the circus? Why did you take me back, to confront Jardine? Why spend the night with me, here, instead of putting me on a plane at the nearest airport?"

Kitty fiddled with her bathrobe, pulling the already-tight belt as tight at it would go. "You needed help. So I helped you."

"I almost believe you."

He sounded tired when he said it—tired, and sad. Kitty remembered hearing that tone before, many years ago, when she'd overheard Kurt talking to Ororo about her lingering fear of him. Ororo had been telling him to be patient—that it would simply take time for the newest and youngest X-Man to get used to him. Kurt had agreed, but sighed as he did so, with a weight Kitty had felt in her own bones. When Kurt and Ororo had turned the corner, heading in her direction, she'd ducked inside the wall to avoid them. After they passed, she'd poked her head out, and seen them casually holding hands as they walked, Ororo's long brown fingers playing with Kurt's two-fingered, white-gloved ones as the tip of his tail flicked rhythmically behind their ankles.

In the present, Kitty said, with conviction, "I couldn't leave you there."

Kurt tilted his head, golden gaze studying her face. "Why?"

"Because…" Her courage faltered, and she went back to examining her hands, knotted in her fuzzy pint belt. After a moment, she tried again. "When I saw you at the circus, I'd just arrived here, in this time. I didn't know where I was, or why. So, I wandered through the crowd, past all the poor animals in their cages… And then, I saw you. I saw you and…" She raised her eyes, but couldn't quite meet his, knowing she'd lose herself if she found them. "It would have been awful to see anyone treated that way. But this was worse because… in the place where I'm from, you and I kind of… know each other."

"We 'kind of' know each other?" Kurt echoed.

"We know each other," Kitty amended.

"Are we… close?"

"Pretty close…"

"How close?"

"You're my… friend." She struggled more than she should have coming up with the word, knowing "friend" didn't quite cover her relationship with a man she'd lived with for the better part of a decade, and who'd battled dozens of world-ending threats at her side.

"But we're not…"

" _No_." She cleared her throat, embarrassed by her quick denial. "I mean, no. We're close but we're not… We've never been close like that."

She could feel Kurt struggling to work through her response, which she had to admit was confusing. It was confusing to her, too.

Eventually, he said, "If you're nineteen now, and you're from seven years in the future…"

"He's—you're—twenty-six. Normally. In my time."

"How long have we—"

"We met when I was thirteen. You were twenty."

"So… we'll meet a year from now."

"If this timeline's the same as mine."

"What do you mean?"

"Time travel is… unpredictable. Sometimes, you can go, and come back, and sometimes…"

"The timeline gets changed," Kurt inferred.

"How did you—"

"I saw it in a science fiction film."

"Well, it's real. Believe it or not, I've run into this kind of thing before. That's why I couldn't tell you. Why I had to—"

"Lie."

Kitty finally met his golden gaze. "I didn't tell you anything that wasn't true."

"No," Kurt agreed ruefully. "You simply led me to believe we were meeting for the first time, when in fact you've known me for…"

"Six years," Kitty supplied.

"How did we meet?"

Kitty bit her lip, which was once again threatening to tremble. She hadn't anticipated that particular question.

Her silence prompted Kurt to wonder, "We didn't meet like this… did we?"

That question was easier to answer. "No," Kitty assured him. "In fact, it was pretty much the opposite of this."

"What would be the opposite of—"

"I can't tell you everything. You know that, right?" Her gaze was pleading. Nothing good could come of him knowing more details about her past, and his future. It would do even less good for him to learn about their first meeting, in which he'd tried to save her, and she'd run away screaming.

"Do you mean you can't tell me everything about the future?" Kurt asked. "Or that you can't tell me everything about you and me?"

"Both."

"Because it will affect the timeline."

"Yes."

"And yet, if we weren't supposed to meet here, like this… surely, the timeline is already affected."

"Yes…" Kitty watched her bare foot flex and grip the salmon-colored carpet, yearning for the solidity of a pair of sneakers or boots.

"You should have left me there."

Kitty's head jerked up. "What?"

"At the circus," Kurt explained. "You should have left me there. You've risked your future because of me."

The suggestion was so ludicrous, Kitty might have laughed. Instead, she regarded him squarely and said, "It's not the first time I've risked my life and the end of the world to save you."

Kurt's big, deep eyes slowly blinked. He was still holding his knee, one indigo hand on his denim-clad calf, the other on his exposed ankle, his long toes curling over the cushions. Where it draped off the edge of the couch, his tail was utterly still. It wasn't like that very often; only when he was being very serious about something especially important. In a low, clear voice, he said, "You didn't just save me."

"And you're not just my friend. You're…" She swallowed as she trailed off, still unsure how to complete the sentence. How could she explain that they weren't just friends, but teammates? Not to mention family, and not the kind of family someone's born with, that they don't get to choose, and may not be the one they truly want, or need. She and Kurt were the kind of family people go through hell to find, and will fight like hell to keep, because they're outcasts in the eye of a storm, surviving by the grace of each other.

Kurt was still waiting for a response. So she settled for something inadequate, but which was, at least, true. "You're my best friend."

Softly, he said, "That explains it, then."

"What?"

"Why you seem to know me so well. And why I felt I knew you, almost as soon as we met."

"Yeah…" Her eyes wandered toward the bed, the latest place she'd learned something new about a man she supposedly knew so well. Fifteen minutes ago, she hadn't known how badly she'd wanted to kiss him. She also hadn't known or even properly wondered how his fangs would feel when she kissed him, pressing against his lips pressing against hers as he tried to keep them at bay. Now, she found herself wondering how his fangs would feel if he was really, deeply kissing her, and she was really kissing him—when he couldn't hold back anymore, and she didn't want him to.

"Can I ask how we met? In your time, I mean."

Kitty's eyes snapped back to the subject of her distracted thoughts. "You can ask…"

"Will you answer?"

"It's… complicated."

"I'm not afraid of things that are complicated," said Kurt.

"You should be—it's your future, too."

"Perhaps, perhaps not." In response to her quizzical look, he said, "I don't yet know if I like the future I have. That makes it rather difficult to know whether I want to keep it."

Kitty shook her head, in resignation rather than denial. "Given everything I've already told you…I guess a bit more won't hurt. Have you heard of the X-Men?"

"I'm afraid not."

"They're a kind of… superhero team."

"Like the Avengers?"

"Yeah, except—the X-Men are all mutants. And a lot of people who aren't mutants don't like them."

Kurt regarded her skeptically. "They fight for a world that hates and fears them? That sounds exhausting."

"It has its moments," Kitty agreed. "But we also get to save the world. And we always have each other's backs."

"We?"

"That's how we met," she explained. "You were—are—a member of the X-Men, based in New York. We met when I was recruited."

Kurt released his leg, and placed both feet on the floor. "Wait, so in the place where you're from, I'm a... _superhero_?"

"You're even good at it," she quipped. It felt good to kid him; she'd always been happiest there, embraced by Kurt's ability to find the humor in everything. Or—almost everything.

"And you're a superhero as well?" he asked.

"We're both X-Men," she confirmed.

Kurt considered that for a moment, sitting very still. "And were we always friends?"

"We've been friends for a long time," she evaded.

"But… not at first."

Kitty sighed. In any era, it seemed, Kurt was annoyingly perceptive. "I was afraid of you," she admitted, then met his gaze to add, "But only at first. I was young, and dumb, and… Of all the bad choices I've made in my life, there's nothing I regret more than that."

Kurt was trying to hide his hurt, averting his eyes and crossing one leg over the other, a pose he rarely adopted, unless he was trying to keep himself from moving. Anyone who didn't know him wouldn't know that, but Kitty did. Despite all the things he'd never told her—or maybe because of them—she'd become skilled at reading certain gestures. Most of the time, she didn't think about it; she simply knew, based on long years of experience living, working, and fighting at his side.

For several long heartbeats, silence reigned between them. Kitty ground her teeth, and readjusted her belt for what felt like the thousandth time. Finally, she asked, "Are you okay?"

"This is… a lot to process," Kurt managed.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Did you know you'd find me here? At the circus?"

Kitty shook her head. "I have no idea why I ended up here. Except…"

"What?"

She blinked at Kurt's prompt, momentarily lost in thought as she recalled the set of circumstances that sent her to the past. "I was just thinking about the… machine… that brought me here. There's a possibility it might have something to do with emotions."

"A time machine powered by emotions?"

Kitty had to admit, it sounded far-fetched. Then again, she was no stranger to far-fetched. "If not emotions, it might have responded to the thoughts of the people close to it."

"You were thinking about this?" Kurt wondered. "About me at the Jardine Circus?"

"No. I didn't know about it."

"I never told you?"

Eyes wandering toward the sun glowing ever-brighter in the shiny pink curtains, she said, "There's a lot of stuff my Kurt doesn't tell me."

"Who does he tell, if not his best friend?"

"Jimaine, maybe…"

"You know Jimaine?"

"We've… met. I've also met your mother—Margali."

"Do you know them… well?"

"I know they're magic users, if that's what you mean."

Kurt took that knowledge in stride. "They may be able to help you."

"I might try that, as a plan B. But I want try my New York connection first."

In the pause that followed, Kurt changed position again, uncrossing his legs to lean back in his seat, tail flicking against the carpet. "In your time, are Jimaine and I…"

"You're not together," she replied, guessing his question. "But you have been, on and off."

"That sounds familiar…" Kurt muttered.

"You've had other girlfriends, though. Other _really pretty_ girlfriends."

"I'm more interested in whether my girlfriends made me happy."

He didn't say it in a cruel way, but it stung her cheeks anyway. She wasn't sure why she'd assumed Kurt would be so hung up on appearances. "I think at least one woman made you happy."

"But you and I… that is, you and my counterpart, have really never…"

"He doesn't think about me like that." She was sure that was true. Kurt had never looked at her the way he looked at Meggan or Cerise—the former with glazed, helpless longing, the latter with hot desire.

Kurt said, with equal sureness, "I find that hard to believe." And suddenly, Kitty was fumbling again, wondering who or what to believe—her memory of Kurt the superhero, who shared everything except the secrets of his heart, or the present reality of Kurt the trapeze artist, who'd known her for three days, and seemed fully ready to give her his whole heart, and thank her for the privilege.

"So," Kurt began after a moment, "if you weren't thinking of this place and time, who was?"

"Him, maybe," Kitty replied. She was turned toward the window, but seeing her Kurt's eyes the moment before she'd dropped through the catwalk, when his gloved hand had needfully cupped her cheek. "Kurt, I mean. My Kurt."

"Why would he be thinking about it?"

Kitty took a breath, and released it. "Because I invited him to dinner. In Miami."

"Dinner," Kurt echoed.

"Uh huh."

"Just the two of you."

"Yeah."

"On the other side of the country."

"He pilots a jet, so…"

”A jet?”

”Yep.”

"But it wasn't a date."

"No, it was…" She rearranged her teeth as she searched for the words. "I was leaving the next day, to start college. It was a goodbye dinner. I just… I wanted to do something fun. Something we'd remember, just the two of us."

"Because you're friends," Kurt intoned.

"Yes."

Kurt uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Are we that much alike?"

"These past four days… there were so many times I almost forgot you weren't him."

"Like before the raid on the circus."

Kitty nodded. "My Kurt has similar limits on his powers. But he's gotten stronger over the years. That goes for passengers, too. Teleporting used to make me sick. Now, I barely notice."

"He teleports you often, then?"

"Fairly often…" For Kurt's sake, she'd always wished she liked teleporting more than she did. But even though she was used to it, it still wasn't pleasant. Kurt's teleportation wasn't like floating, or phasing. It required a different type of effort, and carried different risks and costs.

"There's still one thing I'm confused about," said Kurt.

"Only one?" she kidded.

"You said you wanted to kiss me."

Kitty felt the blood drain from her cheeks. "I… yeah."

"Have you wanted to kiss my counterpart?"

"I'm not… I mean, I've never been…"

"You've never been attracted to him?"

Kitty made a move to investigate her very tangled hair, realized it was a lost cause, and said, "I mean, my Kurt's _attractive_ , but… He doesn't think about me like that."

"You said that once already," Kurt pointed out. "But you didn't answer my question."

Kitty pushed a frustrated breath through her lips, feeling increasingly trapped by Kurt's line of questioning. "The two of you are so much alike. But you're also really different."

"Different… how?"

"My Kurt never flirts with me."

"And do you flirt with him?"

"I don't flirt with _anybody_."

"Then how would he know you wanted him to?"

"You're twisting my words. I never said—"

"Do you still want to kiss me?"

"What I want doesn't—"

"Kitty." He said her name softly, not admonishing her, but simply reminding her who he was—someone she could trust, even with something like this.

"Yes," she replied. "I still want to kiss you.'

"Then what's the problem?"

Her frustration flared again, as she remembered young Kurt was both trustworthy and entirely too cocky. "The _problems,_ plural, are—I'm from the future. I'm not supposed to be here. You're a younger version of my best friend. And I want to _kiss_ you."

As though it were the most obvious thing in the world, Kurt said, "We're not the same man."

"What?"

"Perhaps I will become the man you know in your time, perhaps not. But one thing is certain—that man is different. We met differently, know each other differently… And I cannot imagine myself sharing your life for six years without telling you how beautiful you are. Here, and now—I barely lasted two days."

Kitty shook her head decisively, refusing to be seduced by his logic. "Whether or not you're the same doesn't matter if you _feel_ the same to me."

"But we don't." He met her intense gaze with enviable calm as he added, "Not unless you _have_ wanted to kiss my counterpart."

Kitty chewed her lip, and forced herself to consider it. In her mind's eye, she flipped through images of Kurt nearly naked or wearing a well-fitting suit, or doing miraculous things in skin-tight spandex that left little to the imagination. She recalled times she'd touched him on a whim or fallen asleep on his shoulder, or gravitated to him at a party or during a quiet evening, feeling most like herself at his side. She also remembered times she'd seen him kiss or pine after other women, who were always much taller and curvier than her, and usually much blonder.

"You have to understand," she said at last. "When I met Kurt—my Kurt—I was thirteen. And you—he—was older. He was an adult, and I…wasn't."

"From my counterpart's perspective, I can certainly understand that. Although you also told me—"

"I know. That was true. I did date a guy who was nineteen, when I was fourteen. Most of my boyfriends have been… older."

"Then it's more than the age difference between us," Kurt observed.

"See? Now you're doing it. You said 'us.' But it's not 'us.' It's me, you, and him."

"A very unusual triangle," said Kurt, lips twitching.

"Like something out of a comic book," Kitty grumbled. She frowned when Kurt's twitching lips progressed to a crooked smile. "It's not funny."

"Are you sure?" he quipped.

"It's stupid, is what it is," Kitty shot back. "If this is a comic book, whoever's writing it is stupid."

Kurt shrugged. "Perhaps they're fixing it."

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps you were meant to be here."

"Are you serious? Like, you think it was 'fate' for us to meet here, like this?"

Kurt sat up again, white t-shirt pulling against his taut muscles as he stretched a bit, and rolled his left shoulder—the same one she'd slept on. "I don't know if I believe in fate… But then, I didn't believe in time travel an hour ago. It's also difficult for me to believe you finding me at the circus was anything less than a miracle."

"That's another problem," Kitty observed. "What if you only like me because I saved you?"

Kurt's smile fell. "Is that truly what you think?"

It wasn't—not really. And yet, "I think that type of experience can probably screw up someone's emotions."

"Mine—or yours?"

"I don't know… Both, maybe…"

Kurt released a slow breath, hand moving from his shoulder to his neck. "I'm not trying to talk you into anything, or change your mind—I would never do that. But I would like you to know how I feel."

"Which is?"

He dropped his hand and regarded her seriously, depthless eyes all-but swallowing hers. "That I care for you. And would like to know you better. What form that takes is up to you."

"Except, it's not up to me. Time travel is—"

"Unpredictable, I know," Kurt sympathized. "But my own unpredictable life has taught me to live in the moment, and trust those things which feel right."

She wanted to agree—wanted it as badly as she'd ever wanted anything. But she wasn't Kurt, and couldn't be. In a low voice, she said, "I don't know if I can do that."

Kurt's lips pursed a little, but his tone was bright when he said, "Then I'm happy to be your friend, and support you however I can, for as long as you're here."

"Just like that?"

"If you know me as well as you claim, you know I'm telling the truth."

She did; Kurt had always honored her feelings, regardless of the cost to himself. "So what happens now?"

"We go to New York, and try to find this person you're looking for—the one who can help you get home."

"You're coming with me?"

"If you'll let me."

"Okay," she agreed. She felt lighter after saying it; if Kurt came with her, they'd have at least another day together. "But then you need to—"

"I know," said Kurt. "Believe me—I know."

His sudden seriousness made her less sure; an extra day was better than no days, but it was still just a day.

Because she had to, Kitty cleared her throat, and said, "I'm, uh… I'm gonna have another shower. My hair dried in a million tangles, and—"

"Go. I'll be here." He punctuated his words with a small, close-lipped smile, that Kitty didn't bother trying to return, knowing her lips wouldn't obey her.

Her legs barely did either. She had to stand up carefully before she just-as-carefully collected some fresh clothes from her duffle bag on the settee at the foot of the bed, and then headed toward the bathroom.

Once the bathroom door was safely closed behind her, she released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It felt like she hadn't breathed in days—like her breath and her memory of how to breathe had been stolen by Kurt's golden eyes and his questions about whether she wanted to kiss him… She was still reeling with the reality of Kurt's familiar voice saying such things, and her reaction to hearing him say them.

She lost herself for a while in the shower, but only for a while. Soon, racing thoughts began to overtake her again, involving this Kurt, and her Kurt, and the timeline, and everything she was doing wrong. She knew better than almost anyone the danger of becoming emotionally invested in doppelgangers. The problem was, this Kurt wasn't a doppelganger. Every hour she spent in his presence, she grew increasingly convinced that he couldn't be—that he was, in fact, her own Kurt, from the time before she'd known him. She couldn't decide whether that made everything better, or worse. But it definitely made everything more confusing, from the ongoing problem of how to get home, to what she should do about the still-fresh memory of Kurt's fangs pressing both their lips as he kissed her, and she kissed him back.

It must be the circumstances. It was the only thing that made sense. She missed Kurt, and was worried about him worrying about her, seven years in the future; that was why she was so desperate to connect with this other Kurt, and hold on to him the way she should have held on to her own Kurt. Meanwhile, this younger version of Kurt was simply grateful for her role in saving him from a nightmare, and confused by that gratefulness; that was the only way to explain how he could possibly think she was as beautiful as Amanda.

On a whim, Kitty swiped her hand across the mirrors lining the wall of the shower, and regarded herself in the foggy glass. She liked her body, and always had. She liked her thick curls. She liked her slim hips and her tight, slightly flat behind. She even liked her modest breasts. She liked the way they sat high on her ribcage, and didn't struggle to find room in her superhero spandex, a problem many of her teammates either faced or embraced, depending on their personalities. Her lovers and crushes had liked her body, too. She'd never doubted that, or had any reason to. And yet, she also couldn't deny there'd been moments when she'd felt all-but eclipsed by her female friends. In terms of sheer eye-popping gorgeousness, she couldn't compete with Amanda, Rachel, Ororo, Meggan, Cerise, Rogue, Betsy, or Jean, let alone Emma. Kurt had flirted with most of those women, and slept with at least two of them (that she knew of). Those women were his type. She wasn't.

Shaking her head to clear it, she reached for the conditioner. Why did it matter what Kurt liked, when he wasn't her type, either? She liked guys who were smart, like Doug, and strong, like Peter, and funny, like Wisdom (when he wasn't driving her crazy). Kurt was… all of those things. Not in the same way, but his own way, that shouldn't have worked, but did. All of him was like that—he was a dozen contradictions that only made sense when he embodied them, and made them look effortless. Effortless, and graceful. Graceful, and beautiful… Kitty swore at herself under her breath, something she seemed to be doing a lot since arriving in the past, and especially after the first time Kurt had smiled at her with a certain sparkle in his golden eyes. She didn't have time for such confusing thoughts about Kurt. If she didn't smarten up, she might never have time.

She finished up quickly, suddenly eager to get dressed. She remained in the bathroom as she dried herself, and donned what had become her standard outfit since arriving in the past—black yoga pants and a nondescript tank top. It was the most comfortable non-superhero ensemble for most activities, from driving to busting up crooked circuses. And functionality had reigned in the few minutes she'd spent shopping for clothes before rescuing Kurt.

She was still squeezing water from her damp hair when she pushed open the bathroom door. Kurt had remained on the couch, but was reclining now, his long legs stretched onto the coffee table and folded at his ankles, his tail dangling under them in a gently swaying curve. He was flipping through the same book he'd had the day before, with the well-worn, brown leather cover and tiny pencil tucked between the pages. At first, she'd wondered if it was a Bible, but it was the wrong size and shape; it looked more like a journal.

When she entered the room, he immediately and completely redirected his attention to her, not intrusively, but devotedly, like everything else had stopped existing the moment she appeared. Kitty stumbled to a halt under his gaze, letting the towel drop to her neck as she realized—Kurt hadn't been flattering her in the car the day before. Kurt—this Kurt—truly thought she was beautiful. Even as that realization began to glow on her cheeks, she was struck with another one. She'd seen Kurt—her Kurt—look at her in similar ways, his eyes catching hers across a crowded room or amid the tired aftermath of a battle. He usually smiled, and so did she, as lost in his eyes as he was in hers.

Now, she didn't smile, and neither did he. They were both too busy awkwardly breaking eye contact, to look anywhere that wasn't at each other. Kitty forced her feet to resume their journey toward the bed, as Kurt got to his feet.

Behind her, Kurt said, "I think I'll take a shower as well, if you don't mind…"

"Of course not," she replied automatically. "I know you always feel gross after you sleep in your clothes."

"You do?"

Kitty looked at him, and found a bemused smile playing on his lips.

"There was only one bathroom in one of the places we lived," she offered. "We sometimes had to… negotiate."

Kurt cocked a curious eyebrow. "You and my counterpart… live together?"

"We all do," she said, determinedly casual as she busied herself rearranging clothes in her bag. "All of the X-Men."

"I see. Well I… won't be long."

"Take your time." She knew he would anyway. Kurt tended to take longer showers, which she'd always assumed was related to his fur, though she'd never actually spent time thinking through the specifics. Was it hard to rinse soap out of his fur? Was he sensitive to the hint of brimstone that often clung to him? Was stale fur more uncomfortable than stale skin that didn't have fur? As she raised her chin to watch him move toward the bathroom, his young, lean body flowing even more gracefully than the more powerful body of her own Kurt, it occurred to her there was only one surefire way to answer those questions—she'd have to see for herself. He'd practically invited her into the shower the day before, but he'd been joking… hadn't he?

With an effort, Kitty blinked her gaze away, and went back to jamming her badly folded clothes into her duffle bag. She wasn't sure if she was looking forward to their drive to New York, or dreading it, but knew she was committed to her course. She also knew it was stupid; Kurt seeing the mansion, and possibly meeting Xavier, could mess up the timeline even more. Yet despite what she'd said to Kurt about not being able to live in the moment, she did know, as well as he did, that being lost with a friend was always better than being lost alone. And just like five years ago, hurtling through dimensions aboard the Widget-powered train—there was no friend she'd rather be lost with than Kurt.

Except—that was her Kurt, who was the Kurt in the shower, but wasn't. Was nineteen-year-old Kurt even her friend? Maybe the newness of their bond was what made it easier to imagine him in the shower, water snaking through his lean muscles and velvet fur, while he worked shampoo through his hair and opened his graceful neck to the streaming water…

She wrenched shut the zipper on her bag, then turned on the clock radio to keep herself from listening to the shower. Whatever they were, these feelings that were new, or maybe old, or maybe a little of both, she had to stop feeling them. Her life and Kurt's might depend on it. The trip to New York wasn't an adventure, or a vacation—it was a mission. A business trip. Nothing more, nothing less.

She repeated those facts like a mantra as she made her way to one of the room's many mirrors, and started working the considerable tangles out of her hair. She needed both the mantra and the radio to drown out the sound of Kurt's very soft, very sensitive, very naked fur being caressed by six separate jets of warm water on the other side of a very thin door a dozen feet away.

Amid a life filled with tension and risk, it ranked among the longest fifteen minutes she'd ever faced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Kitty… Keep it together! (Or don't—that could also be fun… ;)). I hope Kurt taking things in stride felt believable. I originally had him getting angrier, but it didn't feel like him, in general, but especially with Kitty. He's too dang nice and reasonable (not to mention romantic—I feel like he'd ultimately be more excited than unnerved by the revelation that the perfect girl he's been crushing on actually already knows and loves him in another world). Next: tension keeps ramping up, as Kitty and Kurt head to New York, and plunge headlong into more memories (and maybe encounter some more friends)… Stay tuned!


	10. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kitty and Kurt arrive at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters—and try to survive the experience.

**Chapter Ten: Homecoming**

It was the morning of Kurt's third day as Kitty Pryde's friend and accomplice, which was also the first day he'd learned he was either more or less than that, though he couldn't decide which, and Kitty wasn't helping. As he sat next to Kitty in the passenger's seat of her newly purchased Hyundai Accent, Kurt found himself struggling with competing desires to break the heavy silence or accept that heavy silences between himself and Kitty were now inevitable—ever since he'd kissed her on a heart-shaped bed in a honeymoon suite, and she'd kissed him back, before wrenching herself out of his arms and confessing she was actually the time travelling best friend of his future self, who was apparently a superhero with casual access to a supersonic jet.

Kurt hadn't been lying about living a unique life. Besides nineteen years of experience navigating his own inescapable difference, he'd long known there were more things in life than heaven and Earth; he was, after all, the adopted son of a sorceress. Yet confronting Kitty's many revelations had still been a significant challenge. He was still reeling with the whiplash of realizing she'd lied to him about everything, and then realizing she hadn't—not really. Because the bond between them was real; she'd lied for the sake of that bond. Or at least, her bond with a _version_ of him was real, a man he may or may not be destined to become… Then there was her admission she was attracted to him, followed by her rejection of that attraction on the basis of him being someone he wasn't. It was, as he'd said at the time, a lot to process.

As he stared out the window at the empty greenery lining the interstate, Kurt tried to put himself in Kitty's shoes. It must be disorienting to encounter someone so like her friend, but different, and then, perhaps, realize things about that friend she hadn't realized before. Yet he continued to have trouble believing the second part of that train of thought, concerning Kitty's ignorance of her feelings for his older doppelganger, and his lack of feelings for her. He'd felt the warmth of Kitty's gaze many times over the past three days, beginning with that first morning, when he'd stepped out of the shower in ill-fitting clothes while still struggling to walk a straight line. If he was so similar to his doppelganger, that gaze didn't make sense. But perhaps it was his doppelganger's fault. Perhaps he'd really lived under the same roof as the perfect woman for years, and never once noticed it. To Kurt, that seemed far more impossible than time travel or sorcery. He tried to remember the age difference between them in her time—how she hadn't been a woman when they'd met. But because he only knew her in the present, it was difficult to picture. He also didn't want to picture it; he didn't want to think about the possibility of this Kitty returning to her time, leaving him behind with a thirteen-year-old version of her, whose presence would be more of a haunting than a blessing.

For a moment, he let himself hope she wouldn't find her way back—that she'd stay with him in the past, and forge a new future by his side. It didn't matter whether she stayed as his friend or his lover; either would be fine, as long as she was there, a partner in sword fighting, watching sunsets and old movies, and helping him make a difference in the world, like he'd always wanted to do. A moment later, he hated himself for thinking it. Kitty wanted to go back to her time, and because she wanted to go back, she _had_ to go back. She had people who missed her, who she missed in turn. People like a 26-year-old version of Kurt Wagner, who seemed to be good at being a superhero and dating attractive women, but bad at finding anyone to trust with the fears that sometimes kept him up at night, even on those nights when he was lucky enough to have another warm body curled against him. Kitty said there'd been one woman who made him happy—one woman, in seven years. It sounded like a very lonely life.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Kurt blinked at the sound of Kitty's voice, and turned to face her. As soon as he did so, he regretted it. She looked so beautiful, sunshine glowing on her clean pink cheeks dusted with auburn curls, eyebrows puckered in that charming way she had, where she appeared equal parts concerned and determined—like every worry was a problem her considerable skills would eventually manage to solve. At the sight, he smiled a bit, warmly, but sadly, realizing—he'd never be able to be her friend. He could pretend, but he'd never stop seeing her beauty, or wanting to be near it. He'd never stop wanting to cup that perfect cheek with his hand, and kiss the sun off its pink crest.

In lieu of answering her question, he said, "How much further?"

"Few hours," she replied.

"You still haven't told me exactly where we're going…"

Kitty hesitated, as she so often did before answering his questions. "It's a school."

Kurt sighed. The beauty of the sun on Kitty's cheeks wasn't enough to erase the frustration of being kept in the dark. "You do realize that I'll know what it is when we arrive."

"It's the school I mentioned to Sally," Kitty amended. "The one for… gifted students."

"For mutants?"

"Yeah."

"Is it the school you attend?" 

"No, I... I mean, I _did_ go there. It's the base of the X-Men."

Kurt cocked an eyebrow. "They're based in a school?"

"It's sort of a front," Kitty explained. "But it's also a school. It's both."

"And do I get to know who we're looking for?"

"The owner of the school. Xavier. Professor Charles Xavier."

"Does this Professor Xavier have access to a time machine?"

"Not exactly…"

"Then how will he be able to—"

"You need to stop."

Kurt studied her cheek and the hard line of her lips. "Stop… what?"

"The questions. You need to stop."

He released another silent sigh, and looked away, knowing that would make it easier to agree with her. And he did agree, at least in theory. He understood, in a general sense, Kitty's concern about timelines, and the danger of changing the past. But understanding was different from caring. A very insistent part of him didn't care about the danger, and even longed to defy it, for the sake of someone so worth it. Hadn't she already done the same for him? And she'd apparently done so before, for his counterpart from the future. How could she and his doppelganger live together, work together, save the world together, and not want… more? Kurt supposed he should be impressed by his older doppelganger, the jet pilot superhero selflessly protecting a world that hates and fears him. But he couldn't presently identify much he admired, unless it was his doppelganger's seemingly superhuman self control.

"You're right," he said, forcing the words through his own stiff lips. "I'm sorry. But it's—"

"Hard," she supplied.

"Ja."

"Don't you think it's hard for me too?"

He eyed her across the seats. There was pain in her voice, which he tried not to hear, but did. It would be so much easier to be angry—at the situation, and even at Kitty, for everything she'd kept from him. But though Kurt was as capable as anyone at getting angry, he'd never been good at staying angry, especially with people he cared for.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, more genuinely this time.

Kitty managed a barely-there smile. And suddenly, things were better. Not right, or good—but better.

They were quiet for a while, until Kitty said, "It's not your fault."

"What isn't?"

"This, everything… If I was in your place, I'd probably be a lot less cool about being kept in the dark."

"Oh?" he wondered. A helpless smile tickled his lips as he imagined himself trying to fend off a determined Kitty, and how awfully he'd fail at it. "And what would you be doing, were you in my place?"

"I'd probably be forcing the truth out of you."

"I don't scare easily." That was true, but she wouldn't need to scare him—she'd merely need to ask.

"But I know all your weaknesses," Kitty warned.

"Do tell."

Kitty blinked. "What?"

"My weaknesses."

She shifted her weight, and said, "You're too nice."

"You've already accused me of that," he pointed out. "What else?"

Her reply came easily. "Women."

"Women." He hadn't expected that answer.

"Are you denying it?"

"That I like women? No."

"Well, then…"

"But I do question the accusation that liking women is a _weakness_."

"It can be," she said. "When it makes you blind to other things."

"Which other things?"

"I don't know… things. Anything. Everything, I don't know…" She shook her head a bit as she shifted again, and readjusted her hands on the wheel.

Kurt could have teased her. Part of him wanted to; she was such a tempting target when she was flustered. Instead, he asked, "Are we talking about me—or him?"

Kitty met his eyes, briefly, across the seats. "There was this one time when…" Her words dissolved into another head shake. "I'll never be able to explain."

"You could try." He very much wanted to know what this other Kurt Wagner had done, to make Kitty think he was a dangerously irresponsible womanizer.

Kitty took a long breath, and released it. "There was this one time when I was in trouble. Me and a friend. I can usually handle trouble, but our powers weren't working, and we were _very_ outnumbered… Anyway, Kurt could have helped us, but he was too busy… Well."

Kurt quipped, "Too busy romancing the alien queen in her boudoir?"

Kitty shot him a look. "How did you…?"

"I was _joking_."

"Oh," she realized, returning all of her attention to the road. "Uh, yeah. Me too…" Before Kurt could respond, she continued. "Anyway, I was pissed at the time, but later I learned—it wasn't really his fault. He didn't know we were in trouble, and in his own way… he was in trouble, too."

"And yet, you're still angry about it," he observed.

"No, I'm…" She trailed off into a sigh. "I don't know what I am. I also don't know why we're talking about this."

"Neither do I," Kurt agreed. "But I'm sorry—for whatever he did. And for whatever _I've_ done, to make you think these things of me."

"You haven't done anything," Kitty assured him. "It's just… my Kurt never flirts with me." She chewed her lip, then added, "My Kurt flirts with everyone _except_ me."

"And you think I'm the same," he surmised.

"I mean, _no_ , but… You did flirt with Sally."

"That was—"

"You _did_ flirt with her."

"Yes," he agreed, stiffly. "I didn't want Sally to scream or call for help. Convincing her to like me seemed like an expedient way to do that."

Their eyes met for a moment, testing, and evaluating.

"So you're saying flirting is a defense mechanism," Kitty inferred.

"In a sense…" He dropped his gaze to the hands, but wasn't really seeing them. Instead, he was far away, seeing fragments of a dozen memories from all the times he'd been forced to learn a valuable lesson about the importance of being liked. It was true he tried harder with women. It was also true that women tended to be quicker to like and accept him. That was part of why he liked them so much in turn, not only as lovers, but as friends, confidants, and partners—he'd always preferred performing with a partner.

Kitty sounded equally far away when she said, "Maybe I'm jealous."

"Of Sally?" he wondered.

"Of you."

Kurt raised his eyes to her cheek. "You're jealous of my flirting with Sally?"

"No, I…" She swallowed her quick denial, and tried again. "If my Kurt hadn't worked so hard to make me like him, maybe I wouldn't have. I'm jealous of him for that. For forgiving me. Because after all these years—I've never forgiven myself."

Kurt wished he could touch her. In that moment, he would have given anything to trace her soft cheek with the velvet edge of his thumb, and feel her lean into his touch. "I thought that was one of my weaknesses—that I'm too nice."

"You are. But I forgive you." The first half was a joke; the second half wasn't.

Kurt was equally serious when he said, "I forgive you, too."

Silence reigned for a while, each of them processing the mysterious gravity of words that both addressed and transcended the present.

At last, Kitty said, "I wish I'd had this conversation with him."

"You can," Kurt observed. "When you get back."

"You really think I'm going to get back?"

"You don't?"

In lieu of answering him, Kitty said, "We'll be there pretty soon."

Kurt tried to accept her evasion, but it continued to echo through the longer silence that followed, making him hope once again for the impossible, and curse himself for doing so. Kitty didn't belong here, in this time, with him. But if she didn't belong, why did it feel so right? He was sure Kitty felt it, too. She must, or he'd already be on a plane. But she also wasn't touching him, and hadn't tried since that morning, when she'd slid one hand up his chest, while the other smoothed over his hip… Kurt inhaled a careful breath, and sat up straighter in his seat, tail tucked neatly under his legs. He needed to get his thoughts under control. If he didn't, it was going to be a very long drive.

He didn't really succeed, but it didn't particularly matter. Each of them spent the next few hours lost in thought between scatters of idle conversation. Among the more memorable roadside attractions was a series of billboards advertising a travelling carnival, called the Barrymore Brothers Circus, that was apparently performing several dates in the area. It was probably a more reputable outfit than Jardine's, judging by the splashy advertising in a state with strict animal welfare laws. Looking at the smiling faces of the trapeze artists and trick riders, Kurt experienced a pang of homesickness; despite feeling increasingly like he was outgrowing the circus, he did love it, and would miss it terribly if he was someday compelled to give it up. He also thought about Jimaine, who he still hadn't managed to contact; he needed to try again soon.

Before Kurt knew it, they were turning off the interstate onto a smaller highway, and then onto a road lined with tall trees and farm fences made of cedar and stone. At the start of a stone wall capped with cast iron fleur-de-lis spears, Kitty slowed, and eventually turned, stopping in front of an imposing gate set between heavy stone pillars. There was a security system at the driver's side door, which Kitty lowered her window to access.

She tried the call button first, several times. When that didn't work, she tried a few security codes. After that also failed, she turned to him, and said, "Guess we're walking from here. Stay close, and watch out for booby traps."

They left the car at the gate and made their way through the locked gate, Kitty by phasing, Kurt by teleporting. Then they continued on foot along the brick-lined driveway bordered by artfully spaced cedar and spruce trees. The sun was high overhead, filtering through a slow-moving scatter of white clouds. It was still warm, but the humidity was gone; compared to the sticky warmth of the Florida Everglades, it almost felt almost crisp. Kurt wasn't cold in his t-shirt and jeans, but reflected that he might be, come nightfall.

The house revealed itself over the crest of the first hill. Except it wasn't really a house—it was an imposing brick mansion stretched out across half an acre of land, with turrets and ivy and what looked like hundreds of rooms.

Gaze travelling slowly over the mansion's many chimneys and seemingly infinite windows, Kurt said, "You… live here?"

"I did," Kitty replied. "For a while."

"Why would you ever leave?"

"I left to stay with you."

Kurt's gaze snapped back to Kitty. She didn't mean him—she meant his doppelganger. Kurt had noticed that her language often confused them, but wasn't sure how or whether to tell her. "Is that true?"

"Yeah."

"Where did he go?"

"Somewhere else."

"With you."

"And some other friends, who joined us later…"

Kurt continued to search for her gaze, but she was looking toward the mansion, or perhaps past it, at some landscape he couldn't hope to guess. He knew he shouldn't say what he was thinking, but did it anyway. "I wish you could tell me."

"Me too."

He believed her, but it didn't make anything better. It was almost worse, knowing the basic facts without the context to explain them. Why had Kitty left her home in a fairy tale mansion to live somewhere else with his doppelganger? And where had they gone? Somewhere else in America, or another country altogether? Perhaps she'd gone with him to Germany…

Even if he'd been inclined to press the issue, there wasn't time. They'd arrived at the main door, adorned with lion's head door knockers whose snouts were smooth from wear.

There was another security system on the wall next to the door, similar to the one at the gate. Kitty went through the same routine—calling, and then typing in several security codes. Once again, nothing worked. If the mansion was occupied, the occupant wasn't answering. And whatever codes Kitty knew, they weren't the right ones.

"What should we do now?" Kurt asked.

"We go in anyway," Kitty replied.

"I had a feeling you'd say that. Should I be worried? You mentioned traps before."

"Nothing I can't handle. You ready?"

"Not particularly." When she looked at him, he flashed a smile, and added, "But that's rarely stopped me from taking a leap of faith."

Kitty flashed her own mischievous smile, and held out her hand. "Shall we?"

Together, they phased through the door, stepping into a marble-tiled vestibule that opened into an expansive lobby, the focal point of which was a grand staircase with thick carved banisters and a deep red carpet.

For several seconds, it was hauntingly quiet; even Kurt's bare feet and Kitty's sneakers seemed to echo through the cavernous space as they took several cautious steps into the lobby. Then, chaos ensured.

All at once, a legion of red and yellow lights began flashing to the rhythm of a blaring alarm, and there was something buzzing in the floor, which didn't seem right at all. That sent a tremor of warning up Kurt's spine; his mutant reflexes were telling him to duck.

He pulled Kitty with him, cushioning her with his body as they hit the marble tiles, just in time to avoid a vivid red laser that would have seared their flesh. Half a dozen such lasers were now criss-crossing the lobby, spewing from a variety of high-tech steel casings that had miraculously emerged from the wainscoting.

Kitty grunted against his chest before shuffling sideways enough to look at him. She was still sprawled across his body, her lips near his collarbone. "Did you forget we were phased?"

"You can phase through lasers?"

"I can phase through _everything_."

"Sorry," he offered. "Blame it on instinct."

"Can't fault your reflexes," she admitted.

Kurt wanted to offer his own witty rejoinder, but found himself a bit too distracted by the lasers that continued to slice the air above his head, not to mention Kitty's weight on his body, her hips molded against his.

"Wait here," she told him.

Before he could protest, Kitty was pushing herself off his chest onto her feet. Kurt remained flat on his back as he watched her stride confidently through the field of laser beams toward a control panel that had appeared in the banister. She examined it for a moment, then shot her hand through it. The panel fizzed, sparkled, and finally died, taking the alarm, lights, and lasers with it.

Kurt stayed where he was until Kitty teased, "You can stop cowering now."

He dutifully regained his footing while self-consciously straightening the hem of his t-shirt, which had ridden part of the way up his stomach in his eagerness to hit the deck.

"There really is no end to your talents," he remarked, joining her by the staircase.

Kitty shrugged. "My phasing shorts out tech. It can be a curse as much as a blessing. I've wrecked a lot of alarm clocks. And computers. And phones."

"Should we look for your friend, or…?"

"Pretty sure this racket would have brought him out of hiding."

"So you think he's not here," he inferred.

"I think it's worth making sure."

"Lead the way."

She did, turning away from the staircase toward a wide hallway that branched off into a labyrinth of rooms. Most of the doors were closed, but a few offices and sitting rooms were open, and one room was definitely a classroom, with a scatter of wooden desks facing a large blackboard. Kurt studied everything with interest, but besides the architecture of the place, there wasn't much to see. Most of the furniture and paintings were covered with dusty white sheets; it appeared no one had used the rooms in some time.

Kitty eventually led him into a library with a vaunted ceiling and tall bookshelves built into every wall, all of them stuffed with volumes of new, old, and ancient provenance. He followed her past white robed desks and couches whose patina of dust glittered in the afternoon light beaming down through the sunroof.

"Perhaps we should—"

The words died on his lips as he watched Kitty continue past him toward a wall of books and, without hesitation, continue through it. Kurt blinked after her, wondering if he'd ever get used to that. After a moment, she poked her head back into the library. "You coming?"

Kurt continued to follow her, letting her phase him through the books into a very different space—a windowless corridor lined with brushed steel and lit by cool fluorescent lights. Kurt surveyed the surroundings with wonder; it was like stepping from Hogwarts into Star Trek. Both ends of the corridor stretched toward dark, distant corners even his superior eyesight couldn't precisely make out.

"Where are we?" he whispered.

"It's the real school," Kitty whispered back.

"Real school?"

"Where we learned to be X-Men."

"I see… Can I ask you another question?"

"Kurt, I can't—"

"Why are we whispering?"

Kitty cleared her throat, and said, in a clear voice, "You started it."

"And where are we going now?" he asked, similarly abandoning his whisper.

"I want to check the computers—see if they can tell us where everyone is."

Kurt fell into step behind her as she proceeded down the hallway, still marveling at the science fiction film they seemed to have stepped into. It was only his ever-useful mutant reflexes that stopped him from crashing into her when she suddenly whirled to face him, and warned, "Try not to look too hard at anything. And try _extra_ hard not to _touch_ anything."

Kurt slowly lowered his hand from a control panel whose multicolored buttons he'd been about to examine. "Of course."

Kitty narrowed her eyes, but quickly pivoted on her heel to continue her journey down the hall.

She had to duck her head through several steel doors to find the right one, but finally, she did, and phased Kurt through it into a dizzyingly futuristic computer room. Where every wall of the library had been plastered with books, every wall of this room was plastered with tech, most of which Kurt couldn't identify beyond a certainty he had no idea how it worked. Kitty went immediately to a large, curved console, settled herself into a roomy black leather chair, fired up a massive display screen, and started manipulating buttons.

"This might take a while," she said, not bothering to turn around.

"Can I help?" Kurt wondered. From what he could tell, she seemed to be trying to bypass security codes. How she was doing it, he couldn't say.

"Just… wait over there," she replied, nodded at another chair some distance away. " _Without_ touching anything."

Kurt again considered teasing her, and again decided against it. He'd seen Kitty become serious before—during their training session, during the raid on the Jardine circus, and when she'd chastised him for fetching breakfast from the motel lobby. But since entering the mansion, she'd assumed a level of intensity that didn't seem wise to trifle with.

He did his best to wait patiently, forcing himself to sit instead of doing what he wanted to do, which was pace around the room and climb the walls. He'd always disliked sitting still, and had been doing entirely too much of it in recent days.

To pass the time, he watched Kitty from the corner of his eye and allowed his mind to wander to what her life might be like in her world, where they were both superheroes, operating out of a top secret base hidden inside a stately Victorian mansion. Despite the fact he was sitting inside a room that looked exactly like it was ripped from the pages of a comic book, the idea still seemed outlandish. He knew a bit about the Avengers, but they'd never been to Germany; he'd always considered them a faraway American fad, or even some type of publicity stunt, existing solely to fill newspapers and provide exciting footage for 24-hour news networks. Then again, people must think the same about him; most people who saw him perform thought he was a publicity stunt, too. He wondered if Kitty had a superhero costume and codename. The garb of the female superheroes he knew of didn't suit her; she wouldn't look right in the flamboyantly feminine costumes of the Wasp or the Scarlet Witch. Kitty would shine in something simpler, that emphasized her stealth, yet still devotedly worshiped all the grace and symmetry of her tight, hard curves…

He was wrenched back to the present by a very familiar, very unexpected image flashing across the screen in front of Kitty.

"Wait—what was that?"

"Nothing," said Kitty, quickly clicking past it. "It was… nothing."

"It was me," Kurt protested, getting to his feet and hurrying to her side. "Why would Xavier have a picture of me?"

Kitty hesitated, and then made a decision, pushing back her chair to make room for him as she clicked back to the image he'd seen. It was a photograph of him performing with the circus, smiling in spandex while suspended upside-down from a trapeze; the image was taken from a German newspaper advertising one of their shows.

"It's not just a picture," Kitty said. "It's a profile."

As he examined the screen over her shoulder, Kurt saw she was right. The photograph was accompanied by a brief history of his life, and a chart listing various abilities and attributes.

"Why would Xavier have a file on me?" he wondered.

"Because of the X-Men," Kitty replied. "He has files on mutants he plans to recruit."

"How would he even know me? Jardine excepted, I wasn't aware my fame had travelled quite this far." His true nature wasn't widely known, and the details of his teleportation abilities even less so. Yet Xavier had detailed estimates regarding the range and limits of his powers, and even theories about how they worked. Someone named Dr. McCoy suggested he might be either travelling between dimensions or bending space-time; both possibilities sounded unsettling.

Kitty said, "Xavier has other ways of knowing."

"He's a mutant too?"

"He can, uh, read minds."

Kurt pulled back to catch her eyes. "From a continent away?"

Kitty bit her lip, eyebrows apologetically puckered.

"You can't tell me," he inferred.

"I'm sorry."

Kurt returned his gaze to the screen. "This says I have 'modest combat potential.'" 

"He's been wrong before..."

"And I _definitely_ weigh more than that."

Kitty eyed him over her shoulder. "Soaking wet maybe…"

Kurt tried to frown, but didn't quite succeed. There was an affection to the way Kitty teased him that felt familiar—like she wasn't really teasing him at all. But he didn't have time to tease her back, because there was another important paragraph he was eager to address.

"It also says my 'biological parentage remains unknown.' Even a mind reader can't find my parents…" Kitty seemed a little too quiet, which made him prompt, gently, "Do you know if I find them?"

Kitty regarded him squarely, and said, "You have a family you love, who loves you back, with every bit of their hearts. That's all that matters."

It was another evasion, but she was right; he already had a family, and would apparently acquire another. There was more in the file, but Kurt decided he'd read enough. "You should get back to what you were doing."

"I won't be much longer," she promised.

Kurt retreated to his own chair, where he managed not to fidget too much. At least until Kitty suddenly stopped what she was doing and slouched forward in her chair, dropping her forehead into her hands.

"He's not here. He's really not here…"

Kurt approached her again, cautiously, and laid an equally cautious hand on her shoulder. "What did you find?"

"Nothing. Literally—nothing. He hasn't been here for months—none of them have. Some of them are on other teams, but Xavier's just… gone. I was afraid of this, but I didn't... I still thought..." 

The despondency in her voice twisted his heart; he'd never heard Kitty sound so defeated. "We could look for him," he offered. "Seek out some of these former pupils."

" _I_ can. You can't. You need to get home, too."

"Then come with me." When Kitty raised her eyes to his, he explained, "I don't know everything Margali knows. But she knows about many things—including things that should be impossible."

"I'm not sure…"

"You don't need to decide now."

"Except, I kinda do. I don't even have a place to spend the night. I don't even know how I'm gonna spend the _evening_ …"

"Yes, you do," Kurt insisted, pivoting to face her. "You're going to spend it with me." When Kitty opened her mouth to respond, he added, quickly, "Doing something fun, to take your mind off things. Whatever you'd like—I'm at your disposal."

For several charged heartbeats, Kitty chewed her lip, considering. With every second that passed, Kurt grew increasingly worried he'd made a terrible mistake. In his desire to lift her spirits, he'd let passion overtake him. It wasn't the first time, and wouldn't be the last; women were a weakness to the extent he couldn't stand to see a woman he cared about in pain, and would do anything, risk anything, to fix it.

At last, Kitty straightened in her chair, and said, "I get to choose what we do?"

"Of course," he confirmed, exhaling a relieved breath that become a relieved smile "As long as it's not dinner in Miami. I can't fly a jet. And I don't think I particularly like Florida."

"Why don't we go to the circus?"

Kurt's smile cracked. "I want to assume you're joking, and yet…"

"We passed all those billboards on the way here," Kitty reminded him.

"Ja. I'm aware."

Kitty's eyes became furtive as her hands twisted in her lap. "I've never gone to the circus with you. I mean him—my Kurt."

Kurt's eyes widened. "Never? In six years?"

"He never asked me."

"Did you want him to?"

"There was one time, when he was going back to Germany… I offered to come with him. He said no."

"He said _no_?"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Frankly, yes."

"I told you—my Kurt's… different. We know each other so well, but there are some things…" She shook her head decisively as she pushed herself to her feet. "Forget about the circus. It was a dumb idea. Especially after everything you've been through—I'm sure it's the last thing you want. I'm sorry."

"No, it's…" He clenched his fist to stop himself from reaching for her, and said, seriously, "I would love to take you."

Kitty turned, slowly, to face him. "Really?"

"Really," he assured her. "There's just one problem."

"I'll pay for it."

"I was _assuming_ that. I was referring to the fact that public spaces can be a bit… unpredictable for me. Including circuses."

A new confidence spread across Kitty's face. "Good thing I know how to fix that."

"Oh?"

Kitty went back to the computer, clicked through a few more files, made a triumphant sound, and then marched to a steel cabinet on the far side of the room. There, she pulled open a drawer, rummaged through it, and withdrew a small cylindrical device, slightly larger than a pen. "Found it. But we're gonna need a mirror."

Wordlessly, Kitty led him all the way back to the lobby, and then up the majestic staircase, to the second floor of rooms. On her third try poking her head through a locked door, she declared, "Jackpot!" and pulled him through after her.

Unlike the downstairs rooms, the furnishings in this room weren't covered with sheets. That made it obvious that the room belonged to a young girl. There was a pink lace comforter on the four-poster bed, and a scatter of cosmetics on a vanity next to a full-length mirror, an antique one, positioned inside a stand-alone, swiveling wood frame. Kurt guessed it had been some time since anyone had slept in the bed or used the cosmetics; everything was clean, but stale, like an out-of-season motel room. There was a framed photograph on the bedside table, which Kurt supposed must be important to the room's owner; Kurt caught a glimpse of a radiantly smiling woman with flame red hair leaning against the hip of a clean-cut man in sunglasses before Kitty redirected his gaze.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" he inquired, joining her next to the mirror.

"This," she replied, brandishing the pen-shaped device she'd taken from the computer lab.

"What is it?"

"It's called a solid light image inducer. It's made by… never mind. It's a high-tech superhero gadget-y thing that uses holograms to make you look like other people."

Kurt regarded her skeptically.

"Here," she said. "I'll show you."

She took a moment to manipulate some tiny buttons on the device, pressed the end with her thumb, and before his eyes, transformed—from Kitty Pryde, into Jennifer Aniston. And then Captain America. And then Audrey Hepburn, in a pale green dress with a tightly cinched waist.

Kurt blinked, narrowed his eyes, and made a slow circle of her body. If he didn't know better, he would swear she was actually the star of _Roman Holiday_. The illusion was seamless.

"And this is just… holograms?" Kurt wondered.

"I'm still me," she confirmed. "I just look like someone else."

He stopped in front of her, watching Audrey Hepburn's lips perform Kitty's close-lipped smile. "This is… unsettling."

"Wanna try?"

"I wouldn't know how."

In a buzz and flicker of light, Kitty became herself again. "It's easy. The device taps into information systems, and synthesizes images from what it finds. So you can look like a celebrity. Or your neighbor. Or a mash-up of and a celebrity and your neighbor. But gender-flipped. Or with scales. Or wings. Or blue fur. The possibilities are endless."

A brief, decidedly distracting image flitted through his mind's eye, in which Kitty's skin was soft indigo instead of pink, with a fork-tipped tail snapping behind her ankles. As he struggled to banish that thought, an opposite one occurred to him. "Can I use it to look like me? I mean, like me, except…"

"Except not a mutant?" asked Kitty.

He wasn't sure how to answer her, since he was suddenly unsure what he was asking, and why. His mutations weren't a matter of addition or subtraction. They were part of him—they _were_ him. There was no him that existed outside them.

"Yeah," said Kitty, picking up the slack. "You can do that. You just take a picture, and then reprogram the image…" As she talked, she held up the device, clicked something, then fiddled with more tiny buttons. Then she offered it to him, hesitating above his equally hesitant hand. "Are you sure?"

"No," he admitted, to himself as much as her.

She finished placing the device in his hand, and said, "I remember a confident young trapeze artist telling me he'd try anything once."

Kurt took a moment to study the device in his hands, wondering how something so small could be so powerful. Then, he took a steadying breath, and clicked the button Kitty had showed him to press.

An electric buzz flashed in his eyes and tickled his fur. The sensation made him blink, and when he opened his eyes, his hands weren't his own. He spent a long moment staring at his pink-skinned, five-fingered hands, with fascination and a jolt of irrational terror that he had to close his fist to quell, running his thumb over the reassuring shape and texture of his real fingers. Finally, he raised his head, and turned to the mirror.

The man staring back at him was as unfamiliar as his hands, and yet—it was him. He recognized the wavy hair tucked and tangled around his now-round ears, the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the aquiline curve of his nose, his slim neck, and the deep pout of his lips, which was usually a rich shade of blue, but was now, like the rest of him, rendered in shades of pink. He was equal parts fascinated and disappointed by the flatness of the light on his skin. It was so unlike the way it played in his fur, where it was seldom still, but instead wavered and glimmered in unpredictable fits of shine and shadow. The entire picture was disconcerting, but his eyes most of all. Usually, his pupils weren't visible, even to himself. Now, they were black inside a brown frame, and followed him as he watched himself, tilting his familiar, strange face one way, then the other. Those brown eyes seemed so small, so… normal. He could have been anyone—any normal, human man. No, he corrected himself—not just any man. He looked like a handsome man. Not handsome like The Amazing Nightcrawler, but handsome like Kurt Wagner, the man who played him under the big top in another world, where he hadn't been born a mutant.

He stepped closer to the glass, and moved a little, watching his too-human outline move with him as he shifted his weight from the ball of one foot to the other. His clothes and shape, at least, were right, along with the essence of his movement. The notable exception was his tail; Kurt experimentally curved it around his hip, spade tip flicking the air, but in the mirror, it was invisible, like it didn't exist, or never had. That absence would have produced another jolt of terror, except that he could always feel his favorite appendage, comfortingly heavy through his hips and squeezing up his spine when he moved, or it did, of its own accord, or because he told it to.

"Weird, huh?"

"That's something of an understatement," he managed. Seeing his voice emerge from pink lips provoked a new shiver of unease, which made him to turn away from the mirror.

Kitty's gaze was hardly more comforting. Her eyes were wandering over his face and body, her expression at once naked and wary. "I've never actually seen you like this."

"He's never used this setting?"

"Not with me." Her gaze flicked away as she said, "So what do you think? I mean really."

"What do _you_ think?"

Kitty chose her words carefully. "I think… I'm used to you being blue and fuzzy. Anything else feels…"

"What?" His prompt was helpless, but a little afraid, too. Worse than the idea of being a man with round ears, smooth skin, five fingers, and no tail was the possibility Kitty might prefer him that way.

Kitty met his brown eyes and said, with conviction, "It doesn't feel right."

Kurt smiled, warmly and a bit self-consciously, realizing he shouldn't have worried. "As usual—I defer to your judgement." He clicked the inducer off, and noted Kitty return his smile, albeit cautiously—like she was holding something back, which she almost certainly was. There must be so much she was holding back, about him, and them, and the six years they'd worked and lived together.

"I can program something generic," she told him, taking the device back. "It's less distracting that way."

"Is that what he does?"

"He usually uses it to look like Errol Flynn."

Kurt made an amused sound. "Now I _know_ you're joking."

Kitty carefully averted her gaze. "He doesn't really use it much anymore."

"What does he do instead?"

"He just… is."

"And the world is okay with that?"

"Not always," Kitty admitted. "But when they're not—I've got his back." After a brief pause, she added, "Me and the X-Men, I mean."

"Of course," Kurt agreed, falling back into a calm smile. He didn't like the idea of needing protection, but could almost talk himself into it if it was Kitty doing the protecting.

"There's just one more thing we need," said Kitty.

"And that is…?"

"New clothes."

Kurt regarded her quizzically. "You want to go… shopping?"

"Not exactly. But the temperature's gonna drop tonight, and neither of us have jackets, and I don't have _anything_ that's not workout stuff… I doubt anyone will notice if we borrow a few things."

Kitty proceeded to the closet, opened it, and started riffling through its contents. Kurt watched her for a moment, very curious about what she would choose from the prim dresses and blouses that seemed to dominate the wardrobe of the woman the room belonged to. He stopped when Kitty turned to him, and said, "Do you, uh… mind waiting outside? I won't be long."

"Of course," he agreed, shaking himself out of his reverie. "A gentleman would have offered without being asked. Please—take your time."

Having seen the hall before, Kurt was able to teleport back to it. He rubbed his chest a bit as he materialized; he was getting stronger, but teleporting still wasn't as easy as it should have been—not as easy as it _had_ been, before he'd been drugged and starved for two weeks. Two weeks… He still had trouble believing he could have been there that long. His memories of his imprisonment remained a foggy morass. He remembered the pain and fear but little of the details, except for snippets here and there of a particular comment or snarling face. But even those were foggy, in part because they were so similar to nightmares he'd had many years ago, when he'd first begun to understand the depth of his difference. There had been a time when he hadn't known—when he'd only felt loved and accepted. But it hadn't lasted long.

As he waited, he gave in to his desire to stretch his muscles, wandering down the hall and effortlessly ricocheting off the wall into several flips and handstands. A few minutes later, Kitty reappeared in the hall, and Kurt immediately ceased being bored.

She'd changed from her yoga pants and tank top into a pair of form-fitting jeans and a white blouse with a silky finish. The blouse was a bit too large for her, but she compensated by knotting it at her waist, a choice that exposed a strip of her taut midsection each time she raised her arms. She was midway through adding a soft brown leather jacket when she caught his gaze. He looked away quickly, and so did she, shrugging herself hastily into her jacket before readjusting the knot in her blouse.

In lieu of telling her how stunning she looked, he asked, "Are those borrowed from someone you know?"

"Not exactly… But I do know it'll be a while before she misses them. I also slipped into the next room to get something for you."

She tossed him a dark blue long-sleeved t-shirt with buttons at the collar and a black leather bomber jacket.

"I don't get to choose my own clothes?" he wondered.

"Did I choose wrong?"

"No," he replied. It was a nice jacket—the type he'd always wanted to own, but never had. "Although, this shirt almost matches my fur."

"Really? I didn't notice…"

When he looked at her, she was firmly invested in performing the role of someone who'd never thought to notice his indigo fur, casually studying her nails, her feet, the wallpaper—anything that wasn't him. In turn, Kurt worked hard to fight a smile, and had to work harder when he reached for the hem of his t-shirt, and noted Kitty's eyes finally wander his way.

Kurt paused, and quipped, "I know it's nothing you haven't already seen, and that I said it was okay to look, but in light of our commitment to friendship—"

"Sorry, I—sorry." Kitty spun away in a hurry, but not before Kurt caught the flush of her cheeks. 

He shouldn't be trying to flirt with her—he knew it. But by the same token, she should have let him choose his own clothes, instead of selecting things she wanted to see him wear. Not that he minded—he liked that Kitty apparently liked him in shirts that matched his fur. But it would be nicer if she'd admit that, and do something about it. He took his time pulling his t-shirt over his head and switching it for the long-sleeved version Kitty had given him, letting himself imagine how much more fun it would be if she were watching him, or better yet, undressing him, her small, strong fingers stroking up his stomach to his chest, her touch warm and sure as she indulged her own desire to explore.

"There," he said, slipping on the jacket, and adjusting his new shirt on his chest. "I should be mostly presentable."

Kitty turned, but subtly avoided his gaze. "Does everything fit okay?"

"It's not usually shirts or jackets I struggle with," he replied.

"Such are the burdens of an extra appendage."

"I tend to think the advantages outweigh the drawbacks." His tail make a sweeping curve behind his knees as he said it, like it enjoyed being talked about. 

"I know." She cleared her throat, and added, "I mean—I know _you_ think that."

His smile became playfully lopsided as he said, "I seem to recall you saying you'd 'always' wanted to ask me about my tail. If you have more questions…"

Kitty's cheeks went pink again as she turned away, but it wasn't the right kind of blush. Something about the stiffness of her shoulders and the awkward way she tucked her hair behind her ear made Kurt fear he'd gone too far. It was so hard to tell with Kitty, who often seemed at war with her own desires in ways he'd never been, except when he'd first started noticing Jimaine's curves. But that had come to a head quickly, since Jimaine had been even more sure about what she wanted.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "I was just—"

"Joking. I know."

"Ja," he agreed, tonelessly. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. But we should probably…"

"Ja," he repeated. "I, uh, suppose you'd better lead the way."

She nodded, as he once again fell into step beside but a little behind her, promising himself that from now on, he'd let her lead the way. No more flirting, no more wanting to make her blush, and smiling when she did so. They were friends—nothing more, nothing less. It was what she wanted, and he had to respect that. And he did respect it, except—all of his usually reliable instincts told him it wasn't true. A lifetime spent convincing people to like him meant he could tell when people did. And Kitty liked him. A lot. The only problem was whether it mattered. That territory was somewhat uncharted; it was the first time he'd ever begun to fall in love with his best friend from the future.

And he was falling in love. That, at least, he was sure of. He was also sure it was going to be a long night. But that he was looking forward to it, regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I can't believe they're going to *another* circus... But it's my story so I can do what I want! It's gonna be fun, I promise :) A few continuity things: I'm assuming the original X-Men (plus Polaris and Havok) had been disbanded for a while before the "All-New, All-Different" team is formed, and that they were significantly less famous than the Avengers (since Kurt hasn't, apparently, heard of them when he joins the team in Giant-Size X-Men #1). This sort of makes sense, and sort of doesn't... Just go with it! I'm also assuming Xavier acquires the image inducer at an earlier point in time; I felt like I sort of had to do that, to let Kitty and Kurt spend some time out in the world. The thing where Kurt is too busy romancing the alien queen happens in Excalibur #16-17. There's a few other little refs, but they're not terribly important.
> 
> *Update*: I don't want to say this story is on hiatus, because I'm still chipping away at it, but due to some life upheavals, updates might take longer than planned. Sorry to keep you in suspense! I know what's going to happen; just need to find some time and space to write the thing, and that's been in short supply lately. Thank you for your support and patience <3 
> 
> Next: the circus! The tension! More kissing? (Maybe!) Stay tuned!


	11. Changing Perspectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, a change in perspective makes everything clear...

**Chapter Eleven: Changing Perspectives**

Kitty was aiming an air rifle at a two-dimensional plastic yellow duck with a familiar, German-accented voice whispering warm encouragements into her ear when she remembered everything was less right than it seemed, in more ways than one.

For hours, she'd almost forgotten. After leaving the Xavier’s School with Kurt, she'd been strangely calm, and even hopeful. She hadn't stopped to wonder exactly what she was hopeful about. She wasn't more hopeful about getting back to her time; she was, in fact, the least hopeful she'd been about that since arriving in the past. Yet she was hopeful just the same. If she'd stopped to think about her hopefulness, she might have realized how simple it was. At its core, it was as simple as an excuse to spend another day with Kurt. Though in another sense, that wasn't really simple at all; Kitty didn't let herself think about that, either.

They didn't go straight to the circus. It was too early for the evening show under the big top, and Kitty wanted to make sure they had someplace to spend the night—somewhere she could have the good night's sleep she so badly needed, and indulge her illogical hopefulness. So, she'd driven them to North Salem, and booked them a suite at the fanciest hotel in town—the Clarebyrne, which she'd never previously set foot in, let alone stayed in. In the jeans, white blouse, and honey-colored suede jacket she'd pilfered from Jean, Kitty had walked confidently through the pastel pink terazzo tile lobby and plunked a wad of cash onto the check-in desk. The clerk had blinked at that, until Kurt, using the image inducer to look like a generically attractive dark-haired man still wearing the navy blue Henley and leather jacket Kitty had stolen from Bobby's closet, had leaned over the counter and smiled, at which point, the clerk had blushed, and started quickly recording their made-up names. The clerk's reaction hadn’t surprised Kitty; though she couldn't precisely explain it, she'd seen Kurt's charm exceed his image inducer before. Yet the clerk hadn't looked at Kurt the same way Sally had done. Sally's blush had been tangled in awe, but the hotel clerk was more straightforwardly charmed, a basic reaction to Kurt's confidence and a voice that must, by Westchester standards, seem marvelously exotic.

There'd been a few awkward moments in the hotel suite, which was exactly as luxurious as Kitty had expected, with large picture windows, an assortment of deep-seated couches and chairs, and two beds—a four-poster king in one room, and a queen-size sleigh bed in the second, separated by a large white door flung all the way open. Kitty had been about to make a joke—which she was sure _was_ a joke—about the king-size bed being big enough for both of them, when Kurt had declared he'd take the smaller bed in the second room. She'd turned away to hide her own blush, which had subdued once they were on their way again, safely out of range of the thick mattresses and silky sheets.

They're arrived at the Barrymore Brothers Circus a little after five. It was a world away from Jardine's sordid enterprise. There were no animals in cages, and no freak show. Instead there was just the usual modest midway, and game booths, and food stands, plus a few large tents housing indoor attractions. Kitty and Kurt wandered for a while, munching on terrible food and sugary drinks, talking about nothing in particular, except to laugh and smile at children trying to cheat the games, or teenagers whose youthful confidence had been humbled by a few too many trips on the Tilt-A-Whirl or Gravitron. They discussed trying some rides, but instead ended up at the game booths, both of them recognizing that even for certified superheroes and soon-to-be-superheroes, subjecting themselves to centrifugal forces so soon after ingesting fairground food probably wasn't a wise decision.

Ostensibly, they were just killing time before the evening performance, for which they'd already bought tickets. But their journey through mechanical horse racing, mole whacking, mini basketball shooting, and dart throwing had quickly become a competition. Kurt was better at games that privileged reflexes; Kitty was better at strategy. Because some games required more of one than the other, by the time they began the duck shooting game, they were tied at four victories apiece. And yet, the closer Kitty had gotten to the big prize, the more Kurt had stopped teasing her, and begun supporting her, stepping close and whispering sweet encouragements into her ear, reminding her to keep her shoulder loose, her finger steady, and her eye squarely focused on the cute yellow target.

Finally, Kitty realized why she was hesitating. She was taking her time adjusting her grip on the air rifle because she was enjoying the warmth of Kurt's breath on her ear, not to mention his body, the entire firm, lean length of him copying her shape, not touching her, but close enough for her to feel the pulsing echo of his heat against her thighs, back, arms, and shoulders, and especially the bare skin at the nape of her neck, between the collar of her jacket and her ponytail.

She pulled her shot and accepted Kurt's condolences when she was awarded the second largest stuffed bear, which she quickly rehomed to a nearby child who was despondently crying about some world-altering injustice while receiving her own condolences from her very patient, very tired mother.

Kitty was dazedly watching the child stumble away under the awkward weight of the bear, her now-beaming face still wet with tears, when Kurt's too-familiar voice brought her back to her immediate surroundings. "I can't believe it."

She was grateful, for once, for the interference of the image inducer. Kurt's generic face made it slightly easier to force a smile, and quip, "That's a first."

"Indeed," he agreed, pink lips hitching up at one corner. "But it's true. Before now, I truly believed you were infallible."

"Disappointed?"

His face broke into a lopsided grin, and suddenly, the image inducer was useless. "No. But I am intrigued."

"About what?"

"About why you missed."

Out of habit, Kitty scoffed. "It's _almost_ like someone was trying to distract me…"

Kurt's voice was silky smooth when he replied, "I wasn't trying."

Kitty ground her teeth as she spun away, not just embarrassed by her fluttering heart and warm cheeks, but actually angry. Not at Kurt, but at herself. She'd been a fool to invite him to the circus. How could she possibly have thought spending another day with him would make things better, instead of infinitely worse? As recently as a few hours ago, she'd still believed she was leaving. Or at least, she'd believed she _wanted_ to leave—that she'd do everything in her power to get home. She still believed that, except there was an increasingly persistent part of her that didn't want to leave—that wanted to stay with this Kurt who both was and wasn't her own, and let him whisper more things into her ear, about her eyes, and her hands…

She had to move, so she did, deliberately placing one foot in front of the other as she began moving down the path at a self-consciously aimless pace. It was all she could do to fight the urge to run, the way her heart wanted her to. It was either that or fall back into the orbit of Kurt's warmth, where she wouldn't have to think about his false face or anything else, except how right it felt to be somewhere that should have been so entirely wrong.

Kurt fell into step beside her, walking in his usual meandering way, in concert with the slow sashay of his currently invisible tail. They were quiet for a while, Kitty doing her best to distract herself with the hustle and bustle around them, while hoping the silence hanging between them was more comfortable than it felt. In a pocket of calm across from the entrance to the Ferris Wheel, Kurt dashed her hopes.

"I'm sorry."

Kitty met his brown eyes. "For what?"

"Your loss," he replied seriously.

"I don't—"

"At the shooting gallery."

"Oh, that's not…" Kitty rolled to a halt by the steel gate surrounding the ride. She took a breath, and continued, "You didn't distract me. Everyone knows those games are rigged."

"Of course," Kurt agreed, stopping next to her. "But I'm sorry just the same."

"It's not the end of the world," Kitty quipped, and immediately regretted it. If she didn't get her priorities straight, it very well might be.

The next silence definitely wasn't comfortable, at least for Kitty. If Kurt felt the tension, he made a show of pretending he didn't. He placed his five-fingered hands on the steel gate as he gazed skyward, toward the highest point of the Ferris Wheel, brown eyes seemingly fascinated by its slow revolution through the clouds bleeding orange in the evening sun. Kitty knew just how his invisible tail would look. It would be loose and languid, making slow, thoughtful swings behind his ankles. Kitty wasn't sure when she'd come to recognize certain moods in Kurt's tail; it felt like something she'd always known.

"Do you remember your first circus?" he asked.

"No," she replied automatically, then paused, and changed her mind. "Actually, yeah. It was with my dad. My mom wasn't there. I think they might have been fighting, and my dad was trying to distract me. Or maybe he just wanted to get out of the house—I was a bit too young to understand."

"How old were you?"

"Six, I think."

"And did you have fun?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question," he observed.

"I just told you the only reason I was even _at_ the circus was because my parents' marriage was failing."

Kurt shrugged. "Recent experience excepted, I've generally found the circus to be a reliable escape from my problems."

Kitty's lips outpaced her brain to ask, "Which problems?"

"All of them."

Kitty tore her gaze away, and wondered what answer she'd been looking for. She was suddenly very curious to learn more what Kurt's childhood and teenagerhood at the circus had actually been like. She'd always been under the impression it had been a largely happy time—that Kurt had felt respected there, and loved. But surely, there must have been challenges. Had everyone accepted him? He'd mentioned something before about pretending to be a monster when he performed. That sounded like a fairly limited type of acceptance.

But Kurt, as usual, was busy prioritizing her problems above his own.

"I know you prefer to confront things directly," he said. "But sometimes, it can be helpful to change your perspective."

Kitty followed his gaze up, to the colorful cars turning and swinging through the sky. "I haven't been on one of these since I was young."

"You're still young."

Kitty scowled at him, but it became a grimace when she realized he was right. It had been a long time since she'd felt young, or felt safe admitting she was. Kurt was usually older.

"It's okay," Kurt assured her. "So am I."

Kitty made a show of hesitating, taking a long look back toward the gaming booths, and shuffling her sneakers in the dusty grass. "Fine," she said at last. "As long as there's not a line."

There was, but it was short enough they managed to claim one of the final cars. Kitty made a point of not sitting too close to Kurt, which ended up being its own kind of awkward, since it meant all-but pressing herself against the wall of the seat. Thankfully, Kurt gave her space, and didn't question it.

The ride operator clanged the safety bar into place, and the wheel groaned to life, starting their car on its slow journey into the sky. Kitty watched the ground slip away, and then watched everything get smaller, her feet idly kicking the air. Heights weren't exactly intimating for someone used to superheroic adventures, who was able to walk on air. Yet her heart did dance a little, seduced by the return of a certain hopefulness. Why was she calmer around Kurt each time she was least able to escape?

"Better?" Kurt inquired.

Kitty released a breath, and managed a close-lipped smile. "A little, actually. Yeah."

Kurt returned her smile before casting his gaze toward the horizon. "We didn't have any rides at our circus. We were the attractions. People came to see us perform, or to have their fortunes read… My foster mother is a fortune teller—did I mention that?"

"How does that work," Kitty wondered, "when you're a sorceress? Can she actually tell the future, or…?"

Kurt shook his head. "No. At least—I don't think so. But she understands people. What they want, and what they want to hear."

"She never gives people bad news?"

"Sometimes people want bad news. I've seen it many times. She'll confirm some part of their deepest fears—mysteriously, of course, with suggestion rather than fact. And they'll go away happy, as though she'd told them true love was around the corner."

"You watch her work?"

Kurt's smile turned mischievous. "I'm good at staying hidden. When I want to."

"Does Margali know that?"

"She's my mother, and a sorceress. I doubt I hold many secrets for her."

Kitty couldn't stop herself from asking, "What about you and Jimaine?"

Kurt gave her a sidelong look. "You're wondering if I keep secrets from Jimaine?"

"Everyone keeps secrets," Kitty replied. "What I was really wondering was—did you keep your feelings for Jimaine a secret from Margali?"

Kurt made a small, amused sound, and returned his attention to the sky and the fairground, now getting closer beneath their feet.

"Why is that funny?" Kitty wondered.

"Because of Margali. And because of how my relationship with Jimaine began."

"That seems like the start of a story."

"He never told you? Your Kurt, I mean."

"No," said Kitty, the admission unexpectedly sad. "He never told me."

Kurt shifted enough to properly meet her gaze. Though Kitty found it hard to read some of Kurt's expressions through the inducer, she was reasonably sure of the apology currently puckering his eyebrows. Then she felt guilty, realizing it wasn't the first time she'd expected him to apologize for things he hadn't done.

"The first time I kissed Jimaine," Kurt began, "was also the first time I told her I could teleport. Or, not so much told her, as— _showed_ her."

Kitty casually adjusted her grip on the safety bar. "What happened?"

"She was performing on the trapeze. I was with Stefan, on the sidelines, watching her, somewhere no one could watch us. Stefan asked me if I thought she was attractive. He'd never asked me that before. I said yes, I did—of course I did. Then he got angry. We'd fought before, but never like this. He told me Jimaine would never care for me. _Could_ never care for me. Because…" He broke his gaze as he trailed off, suddenly very interested in the operator slouched against the control booth and the small gaggle of people waiting to board the ride as they completed their first revolution around the wheel.

Once they were climbing again, Kitty promoted, gently, "What did he say?"

Kurt's cheek twitched with a humorless smile. "Stefan said Jimaine could never care for me, because I was a monster."

Kitty's heart sank as she realized her suspicions had been correct—acceptance hadn't always come easy. "Oh Kurt, I'm so—"

"It's okay," Kurt assured her. "It was many years ago. Even then, I was less hurt, than confused. Stefan didn't sound like himself. But I didn't have time to dwell on it. Because the next moment—Jimaine's rope snapped. There wasn't a net—she never performed with a net. She was going to fall."

Kitty didn't need to be told what happened next. "You saved her."

"I used my power to save her," Kurt confirmed. "I caught her in the air, and teleported us both to the ground. Then, in the center ring, in front of everyone, the girl I'd admired for most of my life fell into my arms, and kissed me."

In her mind's eye, Kitty could precisely picture the scene. "Wow, that is…"

"Weird?" Kurt supplied.

In a faraway voice she said, "I was gonna say romantic."

Kurt's false brown eyes danced across her face, a more playful smile tickling his pink lips. "Ja. It was." His face resumed a more serious vein as he returned his attention to the dusky clouds. "After that, we were together. Until we weren't. And then were again, and then weren't… But Stefan… he and I have never been the same."

"I'm sorry." Like most sorrys, it was inadequate, but it was the only thing she could think to say.

"So am I."

Kitty let the moment breathe, then said, "You don't think he could be…"

Kurt cocked a brown eyebrow. "Possessed?"

"He said he'd been seeing demons," she reminded him.

"I'm not sure. Sometimes, he seems almost normal. Like his old self. Like my friend. My _brother_. Other times…" His gaze flickered, and when he met her eyes again, he seemed to be subtly avoiding them. Kitty wondered if he did that often, without her knowledge; for someone with invisible pupils, it would be easy to pull off.

"You said you know Jimaine and Margali," he observed. "But you didn't mention Stefan."

Kitty chose her words carefully. "I know _of_ him. I've seen pictures…"

"But you haven't met him."

"I've never been to Germany." That, at least, was true.

"He never took you?"

"I’ve asked, but… it never works out." Twice, Kurt had flat-out refused to take her, for reasons that remained unclear. The most recent instance, a year ago, near the end of their time with Excalibur, was the most galling. He'd said it was a "family matter," not open to "outsiders." She hadn't talked to him for a week after that, even when he'd come home bruised, bleeding, and pensive, and she'd wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around him and be grateful he'd come home at all.

Kurt asked, "Then how do you know Jimaine?"

"I met her in New York." It didn't feel wise to mention that she'd specifically met Jimaine at the Xavier School the night Margali had sent Kurt to hell for his birthday, to punish him for his supposed murder of Stefan.

"Does Jimaine join the X-Men as well?"

"No," Kitty replied. "She moved there to be with you."

"My counterpart, you mean."

"Yeah," Kitty agreed, wondering about his need to remind her. Was this Kurt still so sure he was different from hers?

"He seems to have that effect on people," Kurt observed.

"Yeah. He does." Though the memories were mostly happy, her tone wasn't. She missed Kurt. Her Kurt. The one who refused to take her to Germany, but had saved her life more times than she had fingers, and who always forced a smile to coax one out of her, even when the world was combusting around them. No, she corrected herself— _especially_ when the world was combusting around them.

They passed the crest of the wheel and headed down again. The side of the car was cool and hard against Kitty's body. Kurt's shoulder would have been warmer, and hard in a softer way. But he was out of reach, as surely as her own Kurt, seven years in the future. Or so she told herself.

When they began their final ascent, Kitty asked, "How are you finding it, by the way?"

"Finding… what?"

"The image inducer."

Kurt extended his hands, examining his holographically induced extra fingers. "I'm surprised how quickly I've become used to it. When we first arrived here, I was sure everyone would know—that it was only a matter of time before someone yelled something, did something… But they haven't. The whole time we've been here, no has even looked at me twice."

"You sound almost disappointed," she observed.

"I'm not used to being quite so… average."

"You like being looked at." The glance Kurt shot her after she said made her sit up straighter. Once again, she'd spoken without thinking.

"At the right time, by the right people," he replied, tone carefully neutral. "I'm a performer."

Kitty wanted to say she knew it was more than that. She knew it because she knew _him._ If Kurt weren't proud of his hard curves and the velvety indigo coating them, he'd wear considerably fewer barely buttoned shirts and tight pants. She also knew it because she saw it. The generic face Kurt was currently sporting wasn't unattractive. But it was far removed from the dramatic design of Kurt's real face, with its high cheekbones and deep, shifting shadows, and of course its glowing golden eyes, which were bright during the day and almost hypnotizing at night.

But Kitty didn't say any of that. She merely smirked, and said, "The hotel clerk didn't seem to mind."

Kurt frowned. "Do you truly think my eye so carelessly wanders?"

"No, I—"

"Because this is the second time you've accused me of flirting with someone who's not you."

"I was just kidding," she mumbled, eyes dropping to her sneakers dangling in the air.

"Okay."

"I'm not jealous."

"I didn't say you were."

"You kind of did."

"You kind of acted like it."

When she met his eyes, even with his false face, there was no missing the heat of his gaze. It was as hot as her own, challenging him to continue. He didn't get a chance; they were at the end of the ride.

They exited wordlessly, walking close because they had to, through the narrow gates back into the bustling midway.

Kitty checked her watch. "We'd better hurry if we don't want to miss the show."

"We don't have to—"

"You don't want to go?"

He looked at her. "I want whatever you want."

"I want to go to the show." She did—badly. Not so much for the show itself, but because she wanted an excuse to be with Kurt in public, without the pressure of talking or confronting his real face. The idea of being trapped in the car for half an hour, and the hotel suite after that, under the scrutiny of his golden eyes was, at present, almost unfathomable.

"Then we'll go," Kurt said, trying to smile, and almost succeeding. Despite the gesture being forced, Kitty appreciated it, if only because it meant Kurt was as determined as she was to move on, and not linger on what had just happened—her being jealous, and him noticing it.

They proceeded to the tent housing the evening performance, waiting in line with the other patrons, and finally found their seats, at the center of a sideline in one of the final rows. While some acts were better close-up, Kurt had told her the trapeze acts were better at a distance. According to him, the artistic rhythm of the release, suspension, and catch were more dramatic when you could see the whole scene—when you could get a proper sense of the height and scale, and see the full journey of the bodies through the air.

The major trapeze performance was last on the docket. Before it started, they sat through forty minutes of trick riding, clowning, and motorcycles jumping through hoops that spun, and multiplied, and lit on fire. Kitty watched the acts in a haze, enjoying the distraction without processing the specifics. Mostly, she was simply thankful it was crowded, fast-paced, and loud enough she didn't need to talk to Kurt, and could almost forget about the heat of his body, so very close to hers.

Finally, it was time for the trapeze performance. The lights went down, and a spotlight illuminated the ringmaster, announcing the names of the performers, Cool-Handed Claudio and Courageous Claudette (Kitty hoped, for their sake, those weren't their real names). Though she heard the ringmaster, Kitty wasn't looking at him. She was too busy following the light as it rotated to a tiny platform, high in the air atop what seemed like a precariously thin pole, where a beautiful woman in gold sequins with her blonde hair pulled back into a tight chignon was standing with her arm looped around the waist of a lithe, dark-haired man in white spandex accented with the same gold sequins. They were both smiling with what looked like a thousand white teeth, and waving to the crowd.

Kitty hadn't known what to except. She'd seen bits of trapeze acts in movies, and of course she'd seen Kurt, Hank, and a dozen other preternaturally dexterous friends perform feats of athleticism well beyond the ken of mere humans. And yet, she'd never seen a live trapeze act—never seen it the way Kurt had once described it to her after drinking a bit too much, like a superhero ballet done just for the heck of it, because it was difficult, and because it was beautiful. And because people were watching. He hadn't said that exactly, but even then, part of her had known.

Within minutes, after Claudio and Claudette performed their first gravity-defying catch, Kitty was spellbound. Each jump, catch, spin, and somersault felt an instant away from disaster until it wasn't—until Claudio and Claudette caught the trapeze or each other, and embraced for a moment before becoming airborne again, with nothing but the strength and skill of their too-human bodies to aid and protect them.

Kitty was so entranced she actually started a little when Kurt gently nudged her elbow and said, "Do you notice the way he's favoring his left shoulder?" In response to her quizzical glance, he added, "The male performer's left shoulder is injured. Watch the way he favors it when he catches and rotates to the left."

She did, and he was right. "She's helping him," she realized.

"Ja," he confirmed. "She's very good."

"Better than him?"

"It's not a competition," he replied. "Every performer has their strengths. And you have to work together to put on a good show."

They watched the rest of the performance in silence, but Kitty remained focused on what Kurt had said, appreciating with new eyes the way being caught was as difficult as catching, and in some cases more so, because you had to trust your partner so completely, even when you knew they weren't quite themselves. As she watched Claudio and Claudette's effortless chemistry, she found herself wondering about their lives. Had they grown up with a circus, like Kurt had? How long had they been partners? Did they get along beyond the spotlight, or was their performance merely that? Try as she might, Kitty found the latter possibility hard to believe. She'd never fancied herself a romantic, yet felt strangely certain a person would need to love someone to trust them that much.

The lights going up at the end of the show felt like a cruel intrusion of reality. When she and Kurt reached the aisle, Kitty found herself reluctant to leave. Without needing to be asked, Kurt lingered with her, until they were alone in the stands watching workmen armed with pointed sticks and garbage bags begin to collect the many disposable cups and popcorn bags the crowd had left behind. There was one very important thing the show had been missing. The performers had been good; but Kitty couldn't stop thinking about the fact she knew someone better.

"I wish…" Her words began with intention, before drifting off into a cavernous silence.

"What?"

"I've never seen you perform." It was safer than what she'd almost said, though the sound of the words leaving her mouth still did something strange to her gut.

She could feel Kurt's eyes on her cheek as he quipped, "I'm beginning to wonder if you actually know me.”

It was a rhetorical question, but Kitty found herself considering it anyway. "I guess… we're usually too busy saving the world."

"Well, I can't compete with that. But I _could_ take you up there."

"Up… where?"

Kurt nodded toward the platform in the center ring. "There."

"I don't—"

"You just said you wanted to."

"I never said anything about _participating_ ," she corrected.

"That's unfortunate. Because I've always performed better with a partner."

Kitty regarded him thoughtfully, evaluating his false face for sarcasm. "Are you serious?"

"About performing with a partner? Yes, definitely."

"No, about doing this. Here. Now."

Even through the veil of the inducer, it was obvious that he was. "I'll speak with the manager. Invoke the 'performers' code.'"

"That's a thing?"

Kurt offered a sly smile as he slipped past her, and proceeded down the stairs toward the dressing rooms. "I'll be right back."

Kitty wandered down to ground level to wait for him. She received a curious glance from one of the workmen, but no one told her to leave, so she eventually sat down. After a while, the workmen left, leaving her alone in the spacious tent.

Kurt returned sometime later with a definite spring in his step that looked a bit strange to Kitty's eyes, knowing it was a product of unique feet that were currently disguised by holographic sneakers.

"You'll want to take that off," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Your jacket," he explained, already removing his own. "And your shoes. Both will do more harm than good on the trapeze."

"You really talked to the manager?"

Kurt replied, "We've got half an hour before the cleanup crew returns."

Kitty stood, and began mechanically removing her jacket. "Don't tell me the performers' code is real."

"Partly, but also—I paid him."

"How much?"

"You really don't want to know. The important thing is—are you ready?"

Kitty placed her socks and shoes on the bleachers next to their jackets, and cast her gaze toward the platforms towering above them. "I guess…"

"You can't possibly be _scared_ ," Kurt teased, pushing his long sleeves up his pink arms. "A time-travelling, globe-trotting, world-saving superhero like yourself?"

Whatever her trepidations, she'd be damned if she'd let any version of Kurt win at a game of chicken. "I'm ready. Are you?"

"I'm always ready," Kurt returned, smilingly lopsidedly. "Meet you up there."

With a "BAMF," he left her behind waving sulphurous purple smoke out of her face. When she glared up at him, he was standing on the highest platform, striking a casual lean against the pole. Before joining him, Kitty did something she hoped he'd done before her, surveying their surroundings for prying eyes. As far as she could tell, they seemed to be alone. And so, she phased, climbing the air like a staircase to where Kurt was waiting.

She didn't realize quite how small the platform was until she stepped onto it. It was barely possible to avoid Kurt's body, which reminded her—she wasn't trying to avoid Kurt's body. She'd just volunteered—just _asked_ him—to catch her out of the sky on a moving trapeze. But it was a bit too late to change course; Kurt was already dusting his hands with chalk. She followed his lead, but when she started to fold up the sleeves of her silky blouse, she quickly realized it was useless; the fabric was too soft to stay securely in place. She stripped it off in favor of the black tank top she was wearing underneath, hanging the shirt on a nail as Kurt handed her the bar of a trapeze.

"For gathering momentum, use an overhand grip. Like this." He demonstrated on a second trapeze, nodding his approval as she moved her hands to the appropriate position. "Catches use a variety of grips," he continued. "But for now, I think I'll do the catching, if you don't mind."

"I'm a quick study," she reminded him.

"If I didn't know that, I wouldn't be doing this," he assured her. "The fact I know you can't fall doesn't hurt, either." He rolled his shoulders as he stepped to the edge of the platform, trapeze in hand. "We'll start with a simple pass. If you make it to the other side, we'll see about who's catching who."

An instant before he launched himself, Kitty suddenly remembered something very important. "Wait."

"What is it?"

"Turn in off."

Kurt's brown eyes regarded her quizzically.

"The image inducer." She didn't want to see him soaring through the air as a generic dark-haired, pink-skinned man. She wanted to see him, in all his indigo-furred glory. When he seemed to hesitate, she added, "I don't want to miss your hand because it has the wrong number of fingers."

"Are you sure it's safe?" he wondered.

"I'll protect you," she promised, teasingly, but genuinely. Because in any reality—she would.

Kurt's brown gaze flickered, but he dutifully reached into his pocket for the inducer. A shimmer of light dissolved his false face and body, replacing them with his usual features, which would be profoundly unusual on anyone else. His bare, two-toed feet flexed on the platform as his tail snapped the air behind his legs, his wavy, blue-back hair held at bay by the pointed tips of his ears. At the sight, Kitty smiled, helplessly, and, for once, shamelessly. It was so nice to see him, not just now, but all the time, at any time—it was always so nice to see him. Kurt smiled back, flashing the briefest hint of fangs before he turned, and stepped to the edge of the platform.

He rocked a bit on his one-of-a-kind feet, and then launched himself, making a long, slow swing through the air that hitched his shirt up his torso, exposing the very taut muscles of his very soft midsection. Those same muscles contracted to lift his legs, and start the trapeze swinging bigger and faster. He didn't perform any rotations, but simply practiced the swinging motion, demonstrating the basics so she could follow his lead. Finally, he coaxed the trapeze all the way up to the opposite platform, and smoothly dismounted, stepping weightlessly on the balls of his feet.

"Think you can handle that?" he called across to her.

By way of reply, Kitty stretched her own neck and shoulders, stepped to the edge of the platform, took a breath, and jumped.

The first swing was messy. She didn't generate enough momentum, and her grip was unbalanced on the bar. But she quickly got the hang of it, her well-trained muscles easing into the swinging motion, not enough to master it, but enough to reach the opposite platform, and achieve a mostly smooth dismount next to Kurt.

Kurt beamed at her. "Well done."

"Time to up the ante," she grinned back at him, invigorated by the strong, steady thump of her heart in her chest. It could almost be old times, with her and Kurt training in the Danger Room at the school or on Muir Island, running obstacle courses, fighting robotic replicas of old adversaries, or locking cutlasses with holographic pirates. She still remembered the way Pete Wisdom had looked at her after saving them from a malfunctioning version of the pirate program—baffled, and a bit embarrassed, perhaps for her and Kurt, but also for himself, to be associating with people who spent their precious free time pretending to be pirates. Wisdom had never understood. _Could_ never understand. But Kurt knew, and so did she—blowing off steam could be serious work.

"Do you want to try a rotation?" Kurt asked, body close and warm at her shoulder.

"Meet you out there," she quipped, taking an eager step forward.

Kurt's hand on her elbow stopped her. "You know I hate denying you anything, but our routine _might_ run smoother if you let me go first."

Kitty had to admit he was right. She had a rough idea of how to move with the bar, from watching the trapeze artists in the show. But experience had taught her that even for a superhero, practice was an asset.

She moved aside to let Kurt take the lead, watching him push himself back into the air. This time, he stoked the rhythm quickly. Then he raised his legs all the way up, indigo toes perfectly pointed, before hurling his legs back again, until suddenly, he was truly airborne, suspended, for one brief, beautiful moment in what was left of the stage lights before once more seizing the bar, his entire long, lean body perfectly matching the sweeping motion of the trapeze, tail unfurling behind him like a flourish on every fluid motion. He built up the rhythm again, and then did another flip, over the bar this time, to grip it behind his knees as he surrendered his upper body to gravity, pouring like water into the air. From there, he looked back at her, beaming an upside-down grin. "Well?"

"You can do better than that," she called back.

"Ja," he agreed. "But I'm trying to start simple."

"We only have half an hour," she reminded him.

"Then you'd better get moving," he returned.

He heaved himself upright, though it didn't look like a heave, because it was effortless; Kurt rotating on the trapeze was as easy as someone else tying their shoes. Once he was holding the trapeze with his hands, he built up his speed again, until his toes reached higher than his head at the beginning and end of each mighty swing. Then, at the high point of his highest swing, he released the bar. She thought he'd head for the platform, but he didn't. Instead, he catapulted himself even higher into the air, so high he seemed in danger of scraping his toes against the canvas roof of the tent, then fell in a dizzying series of spins and somersaults. Finally, his body jack-knifed open into a perfect arching extension, arms thrown open as his head fell back into space, all of him performing a fearless surrender to his inevitable fall. Except that it wasn't a performance. There was nothing false about Kurt's fearlessness. There was only joy and beauty in the light and shadow dancing in Kurt's fur and across his taut, fluid muscles, not to mention his blissful face, which wasn't quite smiling, but was utterly peaceful; as he hung and started to fall, his eyes were actually closed.

At the last possible moment, he contracted again, performing one more somersault before landing, lightly, on the bar. When he finally dismounted on the platform, Kitty was left gaping at the space he'd vacated, newly fascinated by his ability to change the nature of gravity around himself.

"Coming?" he wondered.

"I… don't think I can follow that," she stammered.

"But can you let me catch you?"

She swallowed, and said, "I think so."

Kitty pushed herself off the platform, and began working up her speed. Kurt followed her into the sky from the other platform, matching her rhythm. When he'd achieved a decent height, he flipped himself to grip the trapeze with his knees and feet, and said, "I'll time my speed to match you. You only need to jump."

"When?"

"At the top of your swing. Whenever you're ready."

Kitty was surprised by how nervous she was. There was no danger of falling; even if she couldn't simply phase and save herself, Kurt would catch her, the conventional way, or using his powers. But part of her knew that's exactly what she was afraid of—Kurt catching her, and how surely she knew she wanted him to.

She kicked the air and swung forward, making a huge, sweeping motion that sent her muscles tugging her bones and her clothes tugging her muscles. Then, she let go.

She wasn't airborne for long; no more than a second, possibly two. But it was long enough to wonder if Kurt would reach her in time; he was heading her way, but he wasn't there yet. And then, suddenly, he was; her arms fell into his with a secure, satisfying thud, his large, unique hands curling around her forearms as her weight jerked him down, his muscles tensing for an instant before bouncing back, accommodating her as effortlessly as he did everything else.

"Wunderbar!" he exclaimed. "You are a quick study!"

His voice jolted her back to the immediate present, and the realization she had no idea what to do next. "How, um… how do I get back to the platform?"

"First," Kurt replied, with a smile she could hear but couldn't see, "you need to get back to your bar."

"Okay…"

"I'll tell you when to jump. But you'll need to rotate to make your catch. Use your right hand to push off my left. I'll give you a boost."

On instinct, she nearly denied she needed a boost, but managed to bite her tongue, recognizing the silliness of the protest. Kurt was just trying to help; and she still wanted him to.

"Swing with me," said Kurt. "Like my hold is yours."

She understood, and did as he said, kicking the air at the top of their swing to help propel them backwards, then forwards again, and back. With each swing, she felt her body flowing through Kurt's. At the top of the swing, all her flesh, skin, and bones poured through the air into his; at the bottom, his poured though hers, pulse pounding in his sure hands and the tensile strength of his velvet-coated forearms, tangled so firmly with her own smooth ones.

At the height of the next swing, Kurt said, "We're close enough now. Are you ready?"

"Just tell me when." This time, she was ready; Kurt's strength was hers.

"3... 2… 1… Go!"

She pushed off, and jumped, spinning out of Kurt's arms into the air. In her nineteen years of life, Kitty was used to challenging gravity. Besides what her own own abilities afforded her, she had friends who could fly, who'd carried her through the clouds and upper atmospheres of alien worlds. She'd fallen off buildings, flown planes, and jumped out of airplanes—many times. And yet, she'd never done what she was currently doing—soaring through the air without the aid of her powers or anyone else's, for no other reason besides the fact she wanted to.

She grunted a bit as she caught her bar roughly, a fiery pain shooting up her right arm. But she did catch it, and that's all that mattered. In the echo of Kurt's celebratory exclamation, she turned herself on the bar, to follow Kurt back to where they started. She watched him dismount, graceful as always, and joined him on the crest of her next swing. Or at least, she tried to. Her right foot landed smoothly, but her left toes only grazed the platform, sending her tumbling backwards.

Kurt's lightning reflexes caught her before she phased, hauling her up to collide with his chest before his back collided with the post. Nineteen-year-old Kurt was strong, but he was significantly lighter than twenty-six-year-old Kurt; that meant he wasn't much heavier than she was.

As she panted against the length of him, she meant to remind him she didn't need his help. But she was a bit too distracted by a dozen other things, that were suddenly far more important. Like the several exposed inches of Kurt's hard-soft midsection, warm and almost ticklish on the exposed inches of hers, a texture she'd felt before but never there, and never like that. If she had, she'd probably want what she wanted now, which was more of it. She wanted Kurt's hands to tangle in her tank top the way they'd tangled around her arms while he pulled her the rest of the way into his hips, until all of his velvet flesh was pressing against all of her skin, all of them irresistibly warm, hard, and right.

But when Kurt started to move, face tilting down as his shoulders shifted under her hands, it all came rushing back—reality, and with it, the wrongness of everything she wanted. An instant before his lips touched hers, she phased, and began making her way to the ground.

Shortly after she reached the bleachers, Kurt BAMF'ed off the platform to join her. "Kitty, I—"

He didn't get a chance to finish. They both started at a rumble of movement and bark of voices announcing the arrival of the rest of the cleanup crew. In the nick of time, Kurt flicked on the image inducer, saving Kitty from the emotions she most hated seeing in his golden eyes—anger, and hurt. Mostly hurt.

Bluntly, she said, "We have to go."

Kurt nodded stiffly, and reached for their jackets. A gentleman amid everything, he helped her with hers before donning his own.

They departed wordlessly, both trying to smile at the workmen, Kurt succeeding better than her. They remained silent during the walk to the car, and throughout the drive back to the hotel. At first, it was hard, but after a while, Kitty got used to it. Not talking was difficult, but it was much easier than talking after what had nearly happened on the platform—not to mention what she'd wanted to happen.

By the time they reached their hotel suite, Kitty almost believed she'd get away with it—that they'd be able to simply move past their passion under the big top, and how similar it had been to what had nearly happened on the hood of the car, and on the heart-shaped bed after that. It was, unsurprisingly, wishful thinking.

As soon as Kurt closed the door behind them, he got straight to the point. "So are we going to talk about what happened?"

"We don't have to if—"

"I want to."

When Kitty looked at him, he'd turned off the image inducer. His golden eyes greeted her, exactly as intimidating as she'd feared.

"What is there to say?" she wondered.

"It seems to me, there's a great deal to say," Kurt replied. They were standing at the center of the room, deep-seated couch on one side, king-size bed on the other. Neither of them made a move to sit down.

"You know how I feel," he said. "I can't just—"

"Stop," she pleaded, clutching her suddenly pounding forehead. "Just… stop."

"I don't know if I can."

"What do you—"

"I think I'm falling in love with you."

Kitty felt the blood drain from her cheeks. To make sure she wasn't intangible, she crossed her arms securely over her chest and dug her fingers into her arms. "You—you can't be."

"Why?"

"Because you _can't_ be." It didn't make sense, _couldn't_ make sense. This was _Kurt,_ and he didn't… couldn't…

"Would it help if I apologize?"

Kitty made a humorless sound. Kurt was always good for an apology. "For what—falling in love with me?"

"If necessary."

"But you're not sorry—are you?" She couldn't look at him. Instead, she studied the bed's luxurious linens, entirely without seeing them.

Kurt said, "I don't think falling in love is something anyone should apologize for."

Suddenly desperate to move, Kitty pivoted away, and put some space between them, hands still clutching her arms. "You always want to make things so simple."

"Aren't they?"

"No!" she protested, whirling to face him. "Things are not simple! They are the unequivocal _opposite_ of simple!"

"Why?" Kurt questioned, passion igniting his own voice. "Because you have a friend who reminds you of me?"

"It's a little bit more than _reminding_ me. He _is_ you, Kurt."

"This again…" Kurt rubbed his neck as he took a few steps away, and then paced back. "How can he be me if we have different histories? Different experiences?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe he doesn't remember, or maybe the future is changing…" She thought but didn't say what might be the most terrifying proposition of all—that maybe it had happened before, and Kurt had never told her. But if that was true, why didn't she remember? Nothing made any sense, least of all the fact part of her was still thinking about the trapeze, and the rightness of their harmony.

For a while, a thick silence reigned, that they were both hesitant to breach. When Kurt eventually spoke, his voice was quieter and calmer. "Why are we here, Kitty?"

"I don't—"

"Why are we here?" he repeated. "Why are we in a suite in the fanciest hotel in town? Why were we at the circus? Why did we go to your school, despite what you've told me about the dangers of changing the past? What do you _want_ , Kitty?"

Kitty didn't quite succeed in meeting his eyes, those glowing, bottomless orbs that had once frightened her, and were now another beloved part of Kurt, her best friend, the last person in the world she wanted to lie to. But if she answered his question, she would be lying, since, at that moment, she was completely incapable of articulating what she wanted.

Kurt sighed, and ran another slow hand through his hair. "I would never pursue anyone who made it clear they weren't interested. But three times now, you certainly _seemed_ like you wanted—"

"I don't _know_ what I want—okay?" The urgency in her voice surprised her. She took a moment to gather herself, then continued. "I usually do. I'm usually so sure of everything. I've always known the answers to the test. I've always had a plan. And I almost never get scared—not unless someone I care about is in trouble." After a steadying glance at her shoes, she finally met Kurt's eyes, and said, "I'm scared now."

Kurt's face softened the way it usually did when he was about to do something helpful, like lay a warm hand on her shoulder, or gather her into his chest for a hug. But he didn't do either of those things, because right now, he couldn't. "What would he do, your Kurt Wagner, if he were here, in my place?"

"He wouldn't be falling in love with me." She spoke the words mechanically, without conviction.

"But what if he was? What would he do? What would he say?"

"It doesn't matter." But she did know. He'd say all the same things this Kurt was saying. That love was simple, and beautiful. That is was the most powerful force in the world, and as such, pointless to resist.

"Then what does matter?" Kurt wondered. "In this whole world, in any world—what matters more than love?"

"Plenty of things!" she protested.

"Such as?"

"Such as timelines! And temporal paradoxes! And not screwing up everyone else's life because I was…" She ground her teeth as she trailed off, firmly swallowing the words that had nearly breached her lips. "Forget it. This is stupid. This is a stupid conversation."

"You think I'm stupid for starting this conversation?"

"No," she said, tearing her hazel eyes away from his golden ones. "I think _I'm_ stupid for making us need to have it. I'm stupid for taking you to the school, and here, and to the circus, and for wanting… For wanting to…"

"Wanting to… what?"

"Nothing." She shook her head decisively, and re-crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't want anything."

"Are you sure about that?"

In lieu of replying, she said, "Kurt, you _belong_ here. I don't."

"What if you do belong?"

"Are you talking about fate again? Because I don't—"

"No. Science. You said the machine that brought you here might have had something to do with emotions. That maybe your Kurt Wagner was thinking about Florida."

"It was just a crazy theory."

"But what if it's true? What if he wanted you to come here?"

"No," she said, giving her head another decisive shake. "He had years to tell me about Florida. If he wanted to tell me—he would have."

"Sometimes, we don't know what we want. Sometimes, we need to change our perspective."

A change of perspective, like a jaunt seven years into the past, or a view of the sunset over Southern Florida on the hood of a car, or trip around a Ferris Wheel, or a sojourn on a trapeze… "I—I can't, Kurt. I just… can't. I'm sorry."

The silence that followed was the heaviest of all. Kitty had to fight an instinctive urge to phase under the weight of it, to drop through the floor or float through the ceiling to anywhere that wasn't the main room of a stupidly expensive hotel suite with nineteen-year-old Kurt wearing perfectly fitting jeans and a tight Henley that matched his fur, standing next to an enormous bed she'd ludicrous suggested sharing just a few hours before.

Kurt asked, "What happens now?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

"Do you want to keep searching for your friends? Would you like me to help you?"

"Could we… talk about it tomorrow?" She still didn't know what she wanted, but she was sure she didn't want him to leave—not now, like this.

"If that's what you want," he agreed. "For my part—I already know I'll help you, however I can, for as long as you want me to. But I do have one request."

"That seems fair."

"If you want to keep spending time with me, as my friend, we need to set some ground rules. No more jealousy. No more bed sharing. No more—"

"I know—you're right." She didn't have the energy to contradict his assertion of jealousy; it was far more important to stop him from listing more things they'd almost or actually done.

Kurt expelled a long breath that felt more tired than relieved. "I'm glad we understand each other. Now, if it's okay with you—I'd like to go to my room, take a shower, and see you tomorrow."

"Of course," she managed. "Have a good night."

"Goodnight, Katzchen."

Kitty watched him leave with helpless eyes and numb feet, matching his movements to the similarly graceful gait of her own Kurt, and wondering if he'd used that nickname on purpose. He couldn't know what it meant to her. And yet, he must have had some sense of its power when he'd whispered it in her ear two days before, when her fingers had been wrapped around Jardine's heart.

She managed to stop watching him before he closed the door, but remained where she was for another long, dumb moment before finally finding the power to stumble to the couch, and collapse onto it. There, she stretched out, and stared at the ceiling. There weren't any mirrors on this one. Just eggshell-white plaster stretching to infinity, dotted with light from the chandelier above the bed.

Five minutes passed, and then ten. Kitty heard the shower in the next room, then heard it shut off. She couldn't hear Kurt move around his room, but imagined she did, his big, unique feet padding past the bed to the window. He was probably standing there, looking out at the night, with a towel around his neck, squeezing moisture from his wavy hair. Or maybe he was using his privacy to dry the rest of himself properly, rubbing the towel over his shoulders, down his arms, and across his chest, where his fur was mixed with a dusting of dark hair.

Eventually, she lost track of time, beyond the fact she knew it was past time she went to bed. But when she looked toward the king-size four-poster, the concept was decidedly unappealing. The bed was so big. And the air conditioning was so cold.

Kurt was always warm. She'd learned that many years ago, when being afraid of him was still a recent memory, and he'd dropped her tired head against his shoulder while sitting on the deck of a spaceship, gazing out at an intimidatingly vast expanse of stars. He'd been the same kind of warm in the honeymoon suite the night before. Not simply warm, but warm like home—like someone she could be at home with anywhere, even a thousand light years away from Deerfield, or Westchester, or Cornwall, or Muir Island. Except now, she was different. She wasn't thirteen anymore. She was nineteen. The same age as Kurt.

Kitty realized she was staring at Kurt's room when she saw the light under the door flick off. In her own room, all the lights remained on; she hadn't budged since Kurt left.

With an effort, she stood up, and walked, from one side of the room, to the other. She walked around the bed, and back. She circled the couch, and the coffee table, and one of the wing chairs. Then she paused, staring, again, at the door dividing the suite, and the darkness of Kurt's room on the other side of it. She wondered if he was asleep, and how he could possibly sleep when her own heart was racing, her skin somehow clammy and hot at the same time. She wanted to ask him what he was doing, and feeling. Wanted to explain. Wanted to…

Kitty let her arms fall to her sides. The revelation wasn't shocking, or scary. Instead, she was calm—as calm as coming home. She knew what she wanted. The better part of her had known all along. And it did matter; it mattered as much as anything ever had, at any point in her impossible life.

She walked to the door separating her room from Kurt's, breathed, and knocked. In response, she heard a shuffle of movement; sheets or clothes, Kitty couldn't tell. At last, the door opened.

Kurt was wearing dark shorts and a white t-shirt that seemed to glow against the darkness of the rest of him. His fur was cloaked in shadow by the low light of his room, but kissed in gleams and flares by the bright light of hers. Dappled sparks from the chandelier danced down his cheek as he said, in a slightly gravelly voice, "Can I help you with something?"

"I just... I need…" Kitty shifted her weight, and swallowed, less confident than she'd been a moment before. "I need to tell you something."

"Of course," he said, and meant it. Despite everything they'd so recently said and felt, he wasn't angry, or bitter. He was there for her, like he'd seemingly always been, like she hoped he always would be.

Kitty said, "I know what I want."

Kurt's tail made a low sweep from the left to the right, a pendulum rhythm, just like a trapeze. "And that is…?"

"I want you, Kurt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well gee whiz, wonder what's going to happen next…? ;) The next chapter should be fun and with a lot less narrative heavy lifting so… hopefully I'll update faster this time! As I mentioned in the notes of the previous chapter, I have a lot of life things going on right now that make writing time unpredictable. And this dang story just keeps getting longer, which doesn't help! But we'll get there, I promise :)
> 
> Does the trapeze part make sense? Probably not. I'm pretty sure a circus that lets random strangers use their equipment wouldn't stay in business (or at least out of court!) very long. But it was fun, right? ;)
> 
> A few continuity things: Kurt refuses to take Kitty to Germany in Excalibur #54 and X-Men Unlimited #19. The stuff with Stefan has been told and re-told many times; the first time was in Uncanny X-Men Annual #4. The thing with Kurt and Jimaine/Amanda kissing for the first time after he saves her is from Nightcrawler (2004) #8. The "Clarebyrne Hotel" is a play on the names of longtime X-Men writer Chris Claremont and artist John Byrne; it first showed up in X-Men Gold #30.
> 
> Next! We find out if Kitty and Kurt want the same things! (My money's on yes!) And where *are* the X-Men, anyway...? Stay tuned!


End file.
